butterflies
by silhouette amongst stars
Summary: "I mean, can you even imagine it? ... think about the difference made to one person, one kingdom, hell, maybe even an entire world! ...by just one tiny, almost insignificant butterfly." Darkstalker AU.
1. bluebirds

bluebirds.

_blue  
it's the colour of life  
the colour of the sky before a storm_

_it's the colour of the ocean depths,  
glassy, sandy bottom much further down  
than anybody expects_

_it's the colour of small, round eyes,  
opening to a world  
made brutal, yet delicate  
a tiny flower in bloom, just for her._

_blue  
it's the colour of loss  
the colour of tears, as they cast  
shadowy constellations across a face that never deserved this  
and eyes that shimmer in the light  
cast by your failure_

_blue  
it's the colour of acceptance  
the colour of lights waving across the sky  
massive sheets of linen, cloaking us from the wonders that lay beyond  
or perhaps acting as a blanket  
soothing us into a deep, profound sleep_

_blue is the colour of the happiest face  
the brightest traces of some otherworldly magic fading away  
right before your eyes_

_coming to terms with your past feels like blue  
like warmth on a cold winter night  
cocooning you  
until you emerge, blinking away the blinding glare  
of an ice blue sun_

_blue is the colour of forgiving  
of light, almost translucent silhouettes,  
dancing and twirling amongst one another  
each one a person you have let down  
but each one a person who would help you up  
without a moment's hesitation  
leading you to ask yourself  
if you deserve to be among their ranks_

_blue is the colour of time  
utterly endless, stretching infinitely  
yet never seeming to be infinite;  
imperceptible.  
you almost mistake it for something else  
but that's alright  
for mistakes are just a way to learn,  
and in the end, all mistakes turn into birds_


	2. Chapter 1

The sky was absolutely beautiful today.

It was all shades of blue. Hues of indigo streaked from horizon to horizon, intermixed with shades of purple and cyan. The sun hung low in the sky, slowly travelling from eastern horizon to western.

In a small clearing just a few hundred yards away from the Nightwing camp played a tiny dragonet- no more than a few moons old. She had soft eyes the same shade as a coniferous forest in full bloom, and jet-black scales, which contrasted gracefully with the dark green ones on her underbelly.

And, of course, who could forget- the absolutely massive smile on her face.

She fumbled among the tall grass, trying to avoid having the tall strands tickle her nose, which she knew from experience would cause her to sneeze.

Suddenly, as she stumbled over a small rock, something caught her eye.

It was a butterfly.

It fluttered along in the sky, trying to keep a fair distance away from the ground- which meant it passed directly over her head.

Tiny legs and antennae waving furiously, it flapped its wings. They were perfectly symmetrical, and covered in the same tiny white spots that dotted its body. The scales ranged from dark blue to purple, only broken up by jet black veins that ran along its surface.

She gasped lightly, and the slight influx of air was enough to make the butterfly drop down a bit. Immediately realising her folly, she blew furiously upwards, giving the butterfly the ability to get back to the height it was originally at.

As it fluttered away, she could only look after it in amazement.

_It's so pretty…_

"Foeslayer!" a voice called, obviously annoyed.

"Coming, Mom!" she called out, still giddy with the excitement of what she had done. She ran back to where her mother stood, at the top of a small knoll. The Nightwing was quite regal-looking, a bitterness in every modicum of her being. Her jaw was heavyset; her eyes sharp, and her voice sharper.

Foeslayer arrived at the top of the knoll breathless, looking up at her mother with those massive eyes.

"I saw a butterfly!" she exclaimed with that excitement that only small children can seem to muster up. "It was so pretty, and I- and I helped it along! And I-"

"Quiet, child." Prudence growled, malice dripping from her every syllable. Foeslayer's ears flattened against her skull as she backed away from her mother slightly.

"We don't _talk _about _trivial _matters like this, girl." the older Nightwing snapped, making her flinch.

"B-but-"

"No more talk." Prudence turned away, casting one last haughty glance back at the crestfallen dragonet.

"And get that darned look off your face."

As her mother walked away, Foeslayer looked around her, for the butterfly.

"FOESLAYER!"

She rushed to catch up with her mother, making sure to keep her eyes on the path in front of her.

But inside her mind, an idea was already starting to take hold…

And grow…

* * *

Arctic was getting irrationally angry.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the instinct to slowly strangle the dragon leading him towards the Nightwing delegation to death. She was droning on about some rubbish or the other, and he just couldn't _stand _it any longer.

"Could you stop?" he growled, baring his teeth slightly.

The Icewing escorting him looked back with a look of relief on her face.

"Gladly."

They continued in silence, but Arctic's mind was racing.

Everything- every _single godsdamned thing- _was going wrong.

First, his _stupid _mother, Queen Glacier, had decided that he wasn't to be trusted with coming up with his _own _idea for his gift to the tribe, and had instead made one for him- an enchantment that made sure there was enough prey in the surroundings for their entire population. Sure, it wasn't the worst idea, but she had taken the decision entirely out of his hands!

Then, he'd had to go on a date with Snowfall, the young girl he was supposed to be marrying. Obviously, it hadn't gone well- especially since they had little to nothing in common, and he actively _hated every single thing about her-_

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. To be fair, she seemed pretty disinterested in him too. Regardless, it wasn't _her_ fault- chances were, if not for Queen Glacier's infinite wisdom, they'd never have spoken to each other.

And finally, he'd been getting exceptionally annoyed by both his guide, who had been entrusted to lead him to the dome of diplomacy (which is what he had been calling it), and by the statues lining the walls of the halls they were walking down. They littered the seams of the palace; screaming scavengers, and bears striking warmongering poses… and there was no consistency. There was no artistic style. It was all just… lazy.

"Prince Arctic?"

He snapped out of it, turning to look at the young dragon accompanying him. She stared at him as though he had suddenly grown a third eye, and then pointedly angled her head to the right- gesturing towards a flight ledge. It overlooked the dome.

_Oh, right. _

The dragon was a few circles lower than him, and would probably not be allowed near the prestigious delegation. Or the Queen, for that matter.

Thanking her quickly, he stepped out onto the flight ledge, taking a moment to admire the perfectly symmetrical snowflakes blowing slowly across the landscape before he spread his wings and took off.

One, two, three sharp wingbeats and his talons were already digging into the ice coating the ledge outside the dome. Three almost instinctive motions between forbidden and allowed.

At least, for a dragon from the lower circles.

The hypocrisy was sometimes mind-boggling.

The dome itself was made up of massive blocks of ice, each one larger than most dragons, lit with a small glow from inside. There waited the three-party Nightwing delegation (he'd been thoroughly briefed on it beforehand), along with his mother.

He hesitated at the entrance, looking over his shoulder at the western horizon, which was currently ablaze; a mess of purple and yellow and orange and white.

_Ah, they can wait for a bit longer. _

He closed his eyes, just standing there, mentally preparing himself for having to face other people. _Especially _his mother.

Standing up straighter, he inhaled, letting the sharp, cold air sting the inside of his throat, and chill his lungs. Suddenly, he was much more awake.

"B-b-beautiful sunset, isn't it?" a wavering voice asked from beside him.

His eyes flew open, and he turned to face the source of the noise, which was-

A dragon.

_Gee, real observant of you. _The voice in his head snarked.

But he genuinely couldn't think of any other way to describe her. He-

He couldn't think.

Just-

…

"Cat got your tongue?" she grinned, stamping her feet slightly. "Or did it get stuck to a frozen pole?"

He looked at her incredulously. Nobody was allowed to talk like that to him! He was the prince! He opened his mouth to reprimand her and-

"Spoken like somebody who's accidentally gotten their tongue stuck to a frozen pole more than once."

She smiled, talons clutching her shoulders as she shivered. "It speaks, huh?"

"The 'it' has a name, you know." he responded, unsure of where the words were coming from. They just felt… natural, rolling off his tongue unlike any conversation he'd ever had before.

"And what would that be?" the Nightwing- for his mind had recovered enough to finally recognise her as a Nightwing- asked, quirking one of her eyebrows up questioningly. "No, let me guess."

She put her talon up to her chin, stroking an imaginary goatee. "I know! High King Haughtiness!"

He smiled. "Close. It's actually Prince Arctic."

The Nightwing looked closely at him before bursting into laughter.

"Wait, what is it?" the Icewing asked, confused. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No, no!" she laughed, wheezing before she finally stopped, cheeks still rolled over. "My mother _specifically told me _not to talk to you before we came here. Or even make eye contact. And yet, here we are."

"Ah, parents telling you what _not _to do as opposed to _what _to do." he nodded. "I can empathise."

Before the Nightwing could respond, the breeze picked up, causing her to shiver violently.

"I- I thought it would be cold," she forced out, teeth chattering, "but I didn't think it would be _this _cold!"

He gave her a sideways look. "It's the Ice kingdom. What did you expect?"

She groaned. "Not _this, _obviously. Besides, I was expecting to stay _inside _the warm dome for my visit."

"So why _are _you out here?"

"Couldn't miss the sunset, could I?" she grinned, turning back to the horizon. "I always make it a point to watch it _eeevery _night. Kinda acts like a reminder… so that I remember that there's beauty in the world. That no matter how bad things get…" she gestured towards the landscape spread out before them, throwing her arms out in a grand, sweeping gesture. "…we'll always have this."

He turned to face the sun, taking in the scene. Thick, dark clouds, heavy with snow, drifted across the sky, followed by a few thinner, scragglier ones. The sky itself swirled with whorls of deep blue and purple, with a bit of indigo sprinkled on top. Closer to the ground, hunters dove into the icy water, catching dinner for the welcome feast. A few dragons from the lower circles were sunning themselves out on a green-tinted iceberg. Off in the distance, an albatross shrieked.

He closed his eyes, letting the sunlight warm his face, and the yellow light put a slight glow on the inside of his eyelids. He observed the multicoloured spirals and lines that darted across his field of vision, fascinated.

Sometimes, when he did things like this, he could almost forget about everything he had to do. Everything that was expected of him.

It was a wonderful feeling.

"Ahem."

It was a deliberate cough, clearly meant to catch his attention. Quickly, he opened his eyes, only to find the Nightwing staring back at him, waving one hand in front of his snout.

"Ooooh, I thought you'd turned into one of those weird ice statues I saw inside."

He giggled a bit at that mental image, and then cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject.

"Don't you have one of those bracelets that stops you from getting cold?"

"There are only three of them, and they're all in use." she said, throwing her hands up in the air. "Why did you guys make only three?"

"I mean," Arctic began, "animi _are _kind of supposed to keep the amount of magic they use to a minimum, seeing as otherwise it'll destroy their soul."

"Oh." she responded timidly. "Must be hard being one."

"It's not that bad." he said nonchalantly.

"How would you know?"

He grinned. "I'm an animus."

She gasped. "OOOOH, super cool! But wait-" her enthusiasm died out a bit as she considered the ramifications. "-you can't really use your powers, everybody has inflated expectations, and you're constantly scrutinized by the people around you for signs of soul destruction."

"Hit the nail on the head."

"Super not cool." she mumbled, and it almost involuntarily brought a smile onto his face.

"Still, there _are _three, each for one member of the party." he said. "The head of the party has one, the warrior of the party has the other… where's the third?"

"It's with my mother, Prudence, who _insisted _on coming along to keep an eye on me." she grumbled, casting a vengeful glance inside the dome. "And if I go inside and ask for it, she probably won't give it to me."

"Why?"

"Oh, she's like that." the Nightwing adjusted her position, her spine now completely straight. "Foeslayer, for goodness sake, I'm not giving you this bracelet! I need it for _queeeeenly _business!"

The line wasn't even that funny, especially since Prudence was most _assuredly _not the queen of the Nightwings. But the girl's posture, her expression, the trill she put on the _queeeenly _and the absurdity of the situation they were in just…

He didn't know how to describe it. All he knew was that he began giggling, and was soon almost doubled over with laughter. And as he glanced up at her, at that smile that was _so very wide, _and her obvious pleasure at making him laugh-

He didn't know how to describe this feeling.

But he was sure that one day, he would find a way.

Another gust of wind, and she shivered again before looking back at the dome, sadly.

"Welp, guess I need to go back inside."

"Wait, at- at least stay until the sunset is over!"

"Sorry, but I think if I stay out here any longer, I'll freeze to death."

And just like that, almost completely on instinct-

He made a decision.

He removed his diamond earring and looked down at it. "I enchant this earring to keep the dragon wearing it at…" he glanced up at her, taking in her gaping mouth and wide eyes that sparkled in the twilight, "…_juuust _the perfect temperature. And to keep her safe."

He maintained eye contact as he said the final bit of the spell. "No matter what."

He slowly attached the earring to her ear, and as the clasp closed, she gasped. He couldn't help but let a smile break onto his face.

"You- you just-" she began.

"Yup."

"But- but your soul-"

"Is yours. If you'll have it, that is." he said, suddenly feeling awkward. Blood rushed into his cheeks, making him blush a bit. "By the way, what's your name?"

The Nightwing looked up at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.

It started as a small choke. Then a giggle. Then a laugh, and suddenly she was on the floor, rolling as she cackled with delight.

"You- you-" she wheezed with laughter. "Oh, that was _perfect_!"

He pouted. "Hey, it's my first time pledging my soul to another person! Cut me some slack!"

That just made her laugh even harder, and despite his embarrassment, Arctic couldn't help but join in. She was right- though he doubted Glacier would find it funny. He had just enchanted something using his animus magic, and it was a tiny earring for a _Nightwing diplomat_.

The royalty would be furious.

But he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Your first time?" she asked between giggles.

He looked down at his talons, flexing them slightly. "Yup. Did it work?"

"Like a charm." she responded, peeling herself off the ground and softly shoving his shoulder. "Thanks, man."

He smiled. "You're welcome, woman."

The joke wasn't that funny. In fact, one could make the argument that it wasn't a joke at all.

That didn't stop them from giggling continuously for five minutes straight. Each time one stopped, a glance at the look on the other's face was enough to send them rolling again.

Eventually they exhausted themselves and just sat there, watching the sun dip below the western horizon.

"Foeslayer." she said, closing her eyes. "They call me Foeslayer."

"That's a pretty name." he responded.

"Oh, don't give me that crap." she said, frowning. "Foeslayer sounds like the name you'd give a superhero villain!"

"No, I like it!" he insisted, and he did! Truly! He didn't know why…

…but he liked it. A lot.

She smiled a bit, and then turned back to the sun. He looked at her face- at the shadows and light dancing across it, her mouth still slightly upturned in a half-grin. He hadn't noticed it before, but some of her scales had a slight dark-green tint to them; dappled across her underbelly, with a few lining her wings. The rest were jet black, which was an _incredible _contrast_\- _not only against their surroundings, but also against his ice blue scales…

He shook his head, regaining his senses.

It looked…good on her. That was all he was saying.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Immediately, he looked away, aware of the blue tint to his cheeks. She smiled, and closed her eyes again. Then slowly, almost casually, she leaned back until she was nestled against his side.

He smiled a bit, testing the name out on his tongue.

_Foeslayer…_

There was just something about it.

And so, the final embers of sunset burned out, and above them, the auroras flared into life.


	3. Chapter 2

"Sit up straighter."

"Smile more."

"Smile less."

"Don't slurp, it's rude."

"Don't cross your legs."

Arctic sighed, slowly digging his talons into the palm of his hand. The royal banquet was, predictably, going terribly.

The dome of diplomacy had been decked out in magnificent banners and flags, with a massive, roaring heath off to the Nightwing side. Light orbs hung from the ceiling, clustered together in a massive chandelier over the banquet table.

Servers scurried among the distinguished guests, handing them tiny starters that most of them wolfed down without a second thought. The conversation was quiet and distinguished, dainty champagne glasses clinking against one another as the dragons spoke.

It was all very fancy and pretty.

None of it could detract from the crappy crowd, though.

On the Nightwing side there was Wisdom, a rather snooty woman who seemed to be at least a few hundred years old. He was surprised she hadn't disintegrated into dust on the flight here. At least, he _had _been surprised until he'd heard her screaming at Foeslayer to hurry up and fetch her a scroll. She had the vocal chops of a drill Sargent, and a personality to match.

He didn't like her much.

Accompanying her was a young and quite overconfident warrior simply known as Wren, so named because of his remarkable flying abilities. He, of course, had made sure to demonstrate said abilities twice before dinner was served, and once between the salad and soup courses, breaking multiple light orbs in the process.

Arctic didn't like him much either.

Finally, there was Prudence, who looked like the type of person that had been dealt a minor setback in life long, long ago, and had never really gotten over it. Her eyes, though sharp and cunning, were almost overflowing with a bitter rage- a rage which seemed to be directed mostly at Foeslayer.

He sighed.

_Foeslayer. _

That name…

He couldn't really fit her in with the other Nightwings. She was just so… full of life, and a bit of a klutz, and she made him laugh…

Subtly, he peeked across the banquet table, trying to find her emerald eyes amongst the sea of blue. To his delight, he caught her gaze, and realised that she was looking back at him. Excitedly, she waved, and he smiled, and relaxed a bit, and-

"_What _are you doing?" Glacier hissed, cuffing him on the back of the head. "_Stop _staring this _instant. _It is uncouth."

He massaged the back of his head, casting a vengeful glance at Glacier as she leaned over to talk to her advisor, an elderly gentleman who almost constantly had saliva dribbling out of the side of his mouth. His jowls bounced as he spoke in his signature warbling tones.

He clenched his fist tighter, trying to alleviate his rage, and then groaned as his talons finally broke the skin of his palm. Quickly, he excused himself, and headed to the lavatory.

Of course, by 'headed to the lavatory', he meant he walked outside the dome of diplomacy, buried his head in a snowdrift, and screamed for four minutes straight.

_Prince of the Icewings, everybody. _He thought sarcastically, very aware of how odd he probably looked.

Eventually, he ceased his muffled screams, and just lay there, contemplating the sins he had committed in a past life to warrant this suffering.

_They'd have to be pretty bad, if this is what I have to deal with._

He peeled himself off the icy ground, and walked back inside.

* * *

The food here was delightful. She couldn't deny that.

Spread across the massive banquet table, stretching from here to the other end of the dome; snow wolfs were gutted and steaming, along with seals, eels and polar bears. They were all decorated with fruits that the Nightwings had brought along as gifts, and garnished with incredible spices and sauces.

The aromas wafting off the table made her mouth water.

Hardly caring for proper protocol, she dug into the broth she had just been served, finding it incredibly warm and spicy. Subtly, she fanned the flames in her mouth before taking another spoonful. The taste was simply _too good _to resist.

_Speaking of things you can't resist…_

This was the one- _the one _downside to having a table piled this high with meats and sweets. She couldn't see beyond a small circle of people that were right around her.

And unfortunately, that meant that she couldn't see Arctic.

Well, that wasn't true.

Glances.

Glances of him.

That was all she could have, and it was aggravating.

Just tiny glances in his general direction.

Glimpses of his ice blue scales, of his heavyset jaw- mouth set into a straight, thin line.

She exhaled lightly, hand involuntarily reaching up and touching the pearl earring he had given her.

_My soul is yours… if you'll have it. _

After all the courses had been served, and the fastest eaters had had their fill, a few of them got up from their chairs, and began to mingle.

Soon, more than half the people who had previously been sitting were standing, chatting amicably with one another- the calm before the negotiations began.

Foeslayer was not among them.

One, she was pretty sure Arctic wasn't just allowed to wander off, and he was the only dragon she wanted to talk to. Two, the eel she had been biting into was particularly juicy, and she was sure that nothing, catastrophe or otherwise, could draw her away from it. Except Arctic.

"Foeslayer, I require scroll twenty-one B!" a voice called, lost among the crowd.

_And that. That can draw me away too._

Swallowing the piece she had been chewing on, she hastily patted her mouth and talons clean, and sprang up. She knew that voice well- and it was a good thing not to keep the owner waiting.

At least it afforded her another glimpse of Arctic.

_Oh, you have it _bad.

An unforeseen spring in her step, she headed towards-

"Foeslayer, would you stop running around like a headless _chicken_?"

She sighed, turning to Prudence, who was glaring down at her disapprovingly. The Nightwing always did that… looking at her out the corner of her eye, angling her head upwards as though Foeslayer were some sort of vile insect.

It was disheartening sometimes.

Scratch that. All the time.

The Icewing that had been talking to the elder Nightwing before she'd turned her attention upon Foeslayer quickly gave the young dragon a pitying look, before dissolving into the crowd.

Foeslayer quickly schooled her features, making herself look all expressionless and obedient. "Mother, I've been instructed to fetch some scrolls by Wisdom." she responded, bowing her head as she had been taught. "Please, excuse me."

Prudence looked as though she wanted to argue, but a shrill, high-pitched voice stopped her.

"Let the poor thing go, Prudence. She's just doing her job!"

Foeslayer grinned slightly as Wisdom walked up behind her mother. Though the old Nightwing was certainly quite cranky, she was _so much _easier to deal with than Prudence.

"I was _instructing her _on how to do her job." Prudence growled. "As _you _seem lax to do the same."

"Oh, she's doing her job just fine." Wisdom responded snarkily. "As am I. It's why I'm the one leading this party, and you're not."

Prudence straightened, eyes narrowing, but didn't say anything else. After a few seconds, Wisdom turned away, and glared at her.

"Get me those scrolls, child. And make it snappy."

"OK!" she yelped, turning and darting towards their quarters, where all the luggage was kept. As she ran, her mind wandered towards the Prince of the Icewings…

Good lord, she was infatuated.

There was no question about it.

Throwing herself up a small flight of stairs, she came upon a plain corridor with small doors at regular intervals along the hall. A window took up the wall on the other end of the corridor, and she could see the snow flittering to the ground through it.

Quickly, she opened one of the doors, and with a practiced ease, sorted through a large mound of scrolls until she found the one she was looking for. She whirled on her feet and ran back through the opening, barely pausing to slam the door shut.

Speeding down the hall, she once again entered the dome, and after a brief search, handed Wisdom the scroll. Then she looked around, to get just another glimpse of that blue-white face…

"Ladies and Gentlemen." a voice echoed from behind them, and Foeslayer turned to find an old Icewing, with jowls that hung almost halfway to the ground, and swung with each one of his movements, speaking. "I do implore that you take your seats, so that the negotiations may begin."

Silently, Foeslayer took her seat. The rest of the Nightwings did too, as did the few Icewings that had been mulling around the dome. As the final stragglers sat down, Foeslayer realised that her view across the table was now unimpeded, and she _finally _saw where Winter was sitting clearly.

He was bolt upright in his chair at the other end of the quite long table, with a stern Icewing she assumed was Queen Glacier reclining next to him. Subtly, she tried to catch his eye, and to her delight, he noticed her! The instant he did, a smile spread across his face, and he slumped into a slightly more comfortable and natural posture.

She waved at him, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face.

Then Glacier cuffed him across the back of the head, and he returned to keeping his spine perfectly parallel to the backrest of his chair.

The Icewing scolded him, though Foeslayer was unable to hear what she was saying. Glacier then turned her searching glare upon the people at the table, eyes roaming over several Icewings and Nightwings until they fell squarely upon her.

The Queen's eyes narrowed.

Immediately, Foeslayer looked back down at her food. When she looked back up, Glacier had moved on to talking to another Icewing. She sighed in relief, but soon realised that it would be wise not to look back in that general direction again.

Sighing, Foeslayer picked at her food- something about that… _whatever _that was, had made her loose her appetite. To her right, Wisdom unfurled a scroll- the very same one that the young Nightwing had so diligently fetched for her. She cleared her throat.

"So, let's begin with appendix two, clause seven…"

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

In the end, the banquet had lasted for another two unbearable hours. There had been quite a lot of yelling, and shouting, and veiled insults, and veiled threats, and false smiles, and in the end, all Arctic had wanted to do was crawl into his bed, and sleep for the next two centuries.

Swooping into the palace through a window (because he was too annoyed to even use a flight ledge), he stormed down the hallway that led to his room. Talons clacking against the ice blue ice, he ran past the hundreds of ancestral portraits whose eyes always seemed to be following him, disapproving of his every action, opened the door to his room, and collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Slowly, he twisted his talons into the wolf-fur bedsheet, breathing hard, calming his rage.

_I'm not a _fucking _child, I can make my _own _decisions about _everything, _and I don't need everybody _dictating _to me!_

He growled, the sound muffled by his many thick pillows.

_Someday…_

_Someday I'll show them._

And so he lay there. Among his pillows. Inwardly seething.

Then there was a knock on his door.

Scowling, he tossed his blanket off to the side, got up, walked to the door, and threw it open to find-

Foeslayer.

She looked quite nervous, standing there- and he could sympathise. Even he wasn't completely used to the feeling of twenty thousand portraits of dead dragons staring at you constantly. Besides, chances were that she wasn't supposed to be there in the first place…

"Is this a bad time?" she asked awkwardly, taking in his expression.

He blinked.

"Are you actually here?" he asked.

"Ummmm, yes? I could _go _if you wanted me to-"

He quickly glanced about the corridor, and upon seeing that nobody else was in sight, pulled her inside with him, slamming the door shut.

He whirled to find her taking in his room- not that large, but not that small either. It was situated in one of the towers of the Icewing palace. The curtains across the one window were drawn, and it was completely immaculate- his wardrobe, his desk, everything except the blanket that lay on the ground was exactly where it was supposed to be.

"You," he stopped, and let a smile wander onto his face. It wasn't even conscious- it was involuntary. "-couldn't have arrived at a better time."

She smiled, and turned back to his room. "Cool dibs!"

"Indeed they are." he smiled proudly, looking around at the icy floor, the white bed with the white sheets, the ice block that constituted his desk, the cabinets shaped out of ice, the bedside table that was also hewn out of ice-

He blinked. "Was that a pun?"

She grinned proudly. "Took ya long enough. Hey, is that bed made out of ice too?"

He scoffed. "No, it's-"

Before he'd finished his sentence, she'd taken a running start, and pounced onto it. It sprung back under her weight, propelling her a few feet into the air. She bounced back down, and began jumping on the bed.

"You- should- really- try- this!" she laughed gleefully, almost completely unaware of Arctic's wide eyes and dropped jaw.

"What- wait, that's not allowed!" he protested.

After one final bounce, Foeslayer spread her arms and legs outwards like a starfish, and fell on her back onto the bed.

"A lot of things aren't allowed!" she grinned. "Me talking to you, me sneaking out of my room in the dead of night to come and meet you… rules are meant to be broken, Arctic! Live a little!"

He hesitated for just a second.

_What would mother think-_

Before he'd even finished the thought, he grinned widely.

_Screw her. _

_I make my _own _descisions._

"Bet I can jump higher than you!"

"Oh, you are ON!" she laughed.

They began bouncing on the bed, timing their jumps so that they both hit the mattress at the exact same time. This way, their bounces were always as high as possible.

"Hey-" she gasped as they bounced even higher, "-I got- an idea."

"What-" he paused as he prepared to jump up, "-is it?"

"We- have a dance off."

He suddenly stopped to stare at her. Unfortunately, the elastic of the bed compressing under his weight threw her off her rhythm, and led to her flailing as she fell-

-right into his arms.

She snorted, brushing some sweat off her brow as she looked up at him.

"You heard me! A dance off!"

He looked at her incredulously. Normally, he wouldn't even entertain the idea of dancing. For her… though…

"I- I don't even know how to dance!"

She grinned, before grabbing him by the shoulders, flinging him to the opposite side of the bed.

"It's not about knowing!" she laughed, leaping all over the mattress. "It's about _feeling_!"

He watched her go, shocked. He couldn't even imagine ever doing something like that. Period.

"Need help?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of where he stood.

"…where do I start?" he asked haplessly.

She tapped her talon against her chin. "Let's get you started with a nice beat, a'ight?"

Taking his arm, she retreated to the centre of the bed, dragging him with her. Then she turned to face him, and urged him into a slow, steady bounce.

She took a deep breath. "_Well don't you know."_

He gasped in astonishment. "You can sing?"

She laughed bashfully. "I'm a woman of many talents. Speaking of which, you have to give me the beat here."

He stared at her, confused. "The beat?"

"Triplets, my dude!" she laughed. "Like in a waltz! You know, _ta da da, ta da da, ta da da _and so on. Don't leave me hanging!"

Quietly, he tested the notes out on his tongue. They felt… weirdly natural.

"Ready?" she asked, and the second he nodded she pulled him into that same bouncing pattern, except now it was tied to the music. Every time his feet impacted the mattress, he sang a _ta. _The two _da_'s were sung while he was in the air, phrased exactly like a waltz- except, instead of slow dancing, they were jumping up and down.

"Good-" she said. "Now, make each phrase one note higher than the other, and repeat the last phrase. Like, _Ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da! _Ummm, think about it like walking up stairs. Except every three steps, you end up back at the first stair. Oh, and each time you step on the third stair, you have to step on it one more time. Got me?"

"Like this?" he cleared his throat, suddenly very self-conscious of his voice. "_Ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da!"_

"PERFECT!" she yelled. "Let's do this, hunh?"

He nodded, and they started again. Most of his attention was focused on staying in time with her jumping, and making sure to hit the right notes. As it was, he nearly missed it when she inhaled and began singing.

But once he noticed…

_Well… don't you know… That…  
Ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da,_

_all your troubles, they grow and grow,  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, _

_And your fears, they let you know,  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, _

_That you'll never be enough for them anyways!  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da_

Abruptly, unexpectedly, she twirled him across the bed.

"WHOA!" he shouted, almost falling off the edge. She quickly pulled him back, mirth clouding her sparkling eyes, and continued their 'dance'.

_And… though!  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da,_

_The fear it, grows and grows.  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da,_

_And the pain it won't leave you alone,  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, _

_You'll fight it and light it ablaze! And,  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da,_

_you will escape! And, you won't be afraid…  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da_

_anymore!  
ta da da, ta da da, ta da da, ta da da!_

And with that, she finished singing, and he finally finished humming, and she pulled him into a small waltz across the surface of the bed. He struggled to keep up with her, but made sure to remain as in-time as possible.

There was an ease to how he could dance with her. He couldn't even imagine doing something like this with _anybody else…_

Eventually, she stopped and pressed her snout against his chest, sighing in delight.

"You were amazing." she whispered, and suddenly he was very aware of how she felt against him, her hands on his shoulders. Quietly, subtly, he put his hands on either side of her neck, and ignoring all his instincts, just moved.

Now he was leading her. Across the bed, one foot in front of the other, talons sinking into the mattress and sometimes catching on the bedsheet, but still moving.

Slowly.

But not deliberately.

And he could almost hear the smile in her voice as she said, "And you told me you don't know how to dance."

And so, they moved.

Two young souls, utterly blissful in the other's company.

Wonderful.

* * *

The room was now a mess.

His bedsheet lay in a heap on the floor, along with his blanket. They had managed to knock most of the writing utensils off his desk, and the stuff that had previously been in his wardrobe was strewn everywhere. It would take a minimum of an hour to clean all of this up.

Not that he cared much.

He and Foeslayer were breathing hard, lying on his bed, staring up at the icy ceiling.

The excitement on her face mirrored his own.

"That was-"

She inhaled before squeezing her eyes shut, throwing her arms out above her. "- the MOST FUCKING FUN I'VE HAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!"

She laughed out, and Arctic couldn't help but join her. Her laugh was infectious- the second he got even a tiny glimpse of her smile, even a _hint,_ his face lit up.

It was weird.

But he wasn't complaining.

They had slow danced for a while, but eventually decided that that was _boring_, and had begun bouncing again- except this time, they wanted to see who could strike the funniest pose while in midair.

Lord, it had been _utterly_ delightful.

A memory came to mind- of her tail accidentally brushing against his, sending shivers all the way up his spine. Suddenly, he grinned deviously, an idea springing into his mind.

"Most fun you've ever had?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Wait, what-" she began, but she never got the chance to finish the sentence.

Before he could second guess himself, he ran a talon along her arm- barely making contact with the skin. As he expected, she giggled, before stopping and mock-frowning at him.

"You're ticklish!" he laughed.

"A bit!" Foeslayer responded, pouting childishly. "Not _that _much…"

"Really?"

He grabbed her and began tickling her.

"OHH!" she squealed with laughter as he ran his talons over what he was sure would be the most ticklish parts of her body.

"STOP!" she yelled, grabbing one of the pillows left on his bed and hitting him with it. He laughed, pushing it off.

"Oh, it is ON!"

And then he was scrambling for the door, where he was sure he had seen a pillow lying. Quickly, he grabbed it, and turned to find Foeslayer standing on his bed, an entire army of pillows at her feet.

"Is it on, Prince Arctic?" she asked, a massive smile on her face. "Is it, really?"

He narrowed his eyes.

Currently, they were at an impasse. But, unfortunately for him, it was clear who would be winning this pillow fight.

"FUCK-" Arctic began before Foeslayer absolutely annihilated him with a barrage of pillows. Ducking, he tried to take shelter behind his pillow, but large portions of his body were still exposed.

And then it got worse.

"CANNONBALL!"

He peeked out from under the relative safety of his pillow just in time to see Foeslayer take a running leap off his bed with a massive pillow under her. He could see a delirious happiness in those wide eyes, and in that instant…

_Oh. _

She crashed into him, knocking the breath out of him.

"OOOF!"

She was laughing, laughing so hard-

"I think you broke something." he groaned, shifting slightly so that her weight on top of him was more evenly distributed.

She was shaking with laughter now, and slowly slid off him, to the side. Almost casually, she turned towards him, resting her snout on his shoulder, her arm across his chest.

He froze.

Eventually, the shudders running through her body stopped, and the giggles ceased. And then they just lay there, pressed against one another.

At first, Arctic was tense. But after a while, he relaxed his muscles, and slumped down a bit more, and sighed in relief.

Something was changing.

Something big.

He turned to her, mouth open, ready to say something witty, or cool…

And saw her eyes pressed into the crook of his shoulder, squeezed shut. Out of the corner of one of them, a tiny tear fell, travelling down her cheek until it dripped from her chin.

"Foeslayer…"

She sniffled, pulling away from him as she wiped at her eyes. "Sorry, it's just…"

She laughed, eyes still closed. "…I just haven't felt this way for _so long, _and… I'd forgotten the feeling! Of… just pure happiness!"

She blinked, and for a second he was blown away, by just a tiny twinkle of something behind those beautiful eyes…

"I'm sorry. It was just-"

He didn't even hesitate.

"Relax!" he smiled, and stroked her face delicately. "Relax."

He lowered his voice to make it more soothing. "Relax…"

Foeslayer burst into laughter again.

"We're so rubbish…"

They lay there for a while, breathing slowing, melting into each other's arms. After about fifteen minutes, Arctic finally worked up the courage to rest his snout on top of hers.

A smile had crept onto her face when he'd done that, and she had slowly compressed him tighter and tighter in her hug until he'd squeaked out that he couldn't breathe.

She'd laughed again. He had too.

It was great.

And then, for a short time, it wasn't.

"How did you even know about all those tickling techniques?" she asked.

He grimaced. "That… was kinda a training method that our trainers used. If you can stay fighting while getting tickled, you can probably stay fighting for a while after getting wounded. So, they would tickle us while we trained."

"Oh."

An uncomfortable silence prevailed.

"…that's kinda fucked, isn't it?" Foeslayer asked.

"What?"

"They're taking a fun thing like tickling, and using it for training." she spat. "It's sadistic!"

She crossed her arms. "This place sucks."

"Hey now, it isn't _that _bad." Arctic said. He was going to continue, but then Foeslayer fixed him with her steely glare.

"It _so _is."

"Now, that's just childish."

"If only…"

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused what she meant when she said that. Then she pulled back from him slightly, and his heart skipped a beat or seven.

"I saw the way Glacier was treating you." she grumbled. "Does she even let you call her 'mother'?"

He stared at her, mouth open in shock.

"Hey, too far!" he protested.

Immediately, Foeslayer's expression became one of regret.

"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry! I just… I can empathise."

He stayed silent, allowing her to elaborate.

"My mother, Prudence. She doesn't let me call her mother either."

He sighed, scratching his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault."

She looked to the curtains drawn across his window. Slowly, she extracted herself from his grip, and walked over to them, throwing the drapes aside.

The night was dark, but it was slightly illuminated by the snowflakes swirling outside. They reflected the moonlight in subtle yet incredible ways.

She walked back to him, falling into his arms. "I'm sorry too. I… shouldn't have said those things."

He sighed again, looking to the window sadly. "It's fucked, I know, but it's my home. Can't change that."

A lull in the conversation, as they watched the flakes spiral past the window, falling to the ground far, far below them.

"…at least there's _some _elements of beauty in this place." he admitted.

She held him tighter. "That's how people like us survive, right? Just… constantly focus on the beauty in the world. Or at least, try and accentuate it. Otherwise… what even _do _we do?"

He closed his eyes. "Point. Can't just be pessimistic little shits all the time, can we?"

She exhaled softly, and he could feel her warmth seeping into his scales…

"I saw a butterfly as a kid." she admitted.

A pause.

"…what's a butterfly?" he asked.

"Wait, wha- oh, you guys don't have them up here. Ummm, they're these insects with all sorts of scales on their bodies, and they fly, and they're really pretty. So, when I was a little dragonet, I saw one flying over me, and I… basically memorised everything about it."

She pressed herself closer to him.

"And imagining it was always a way for me to calm myself, because I imagined I was that butterfly- just flittering along, not a care in the world. And one day, I was in school, and there were some paints nearby, and…"

She giggled.

"It's so fucking absurd. Long story short, I sort of taught myself to draw butterflies, and now they're my own personal symbol for being calm, and remembering all the beauty in the world!"

Arctic said nothing, genuine wonderment evident in his eyes. His strict upbringing meant that he hadn't really been… allowed to do anything remotely artsy. So, when she said that…

"Did I weird you out?" Foeslayer asked nervously. "I can shut up, if you want-"

"Can you show me?" he asked before he could second guess himself.

"What?"

"Could you show me how you draw a butterfly?"

She paused, and then grinned, back to normal.

"Got any ink?"

* * *

He was entranced, watching her work.

Methodically, swiftly, she would dip a talon into an ink pot and deposit the ink onto the parchment on the desk in front of her, scratching at the surface to create thin lines, or sometimes smearing a thick line with the edge of her claw. Her gaze was sharp; she was concentrating hard.

Brow furrowed, lips pressed together, hunched in the chair that he usually did his studying in, illuminated by the soft glow of a light orb, she worked.

She was beautiful.

Another couple of scratches, another dip into the ink, and suddenly, as though conjured by animus magic…

A butterfly.

It just appeared, suddenly, from amongst the mess of black lines and colourful paint on the parchment.

It was… unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

It looked as if it would spring fully-formed from the page at any moment; flutter around the room for a while, before it darted out of the door, and into the chilly night.

She had captured it mid-flight, fluttering a few feet above the ground, wings partially folded on a down-beat. Its veins were jet-black, which contrasted perfectly against its rainbow scales. Its antennae stood at attention, attached to a thin body with six legs hanging limp underneath it.

Casually, Foeslayer finished the painting by adding a few strokes in bright green ink, making it look like the butterfly was flying among some grass. She sighed, and set her hands down. "It's done!"

"…Remarkable." he breathed, eyes widening significantly. Foeslayer laughed, a bit flustered.

"Oh, it's not that good!" she admitted. "_This_ line isn't all that straight, the c_olours_ are all off, it isn't _completely _symmetrical…"

He placed a talon on her lips. "It's perfect."

Foeslayer looked up at him, one eyebrow quirked. "Really?"

He laughed. "Yes! I don't know, it's just so… how did you_ do_ that?"

She grinned and turned to him, not bothering to wipe the paint from her talons. "It took me a _long _time to learn, and the first few drawings I made were garbage, but eventually, I got better! There's a few tricks-"

"Could you teach me?" he asked her, cutting her off.

"Wha?"

"Could-" suddenly, he became quite embarrassed. Turning his face aside, trying to hide his blush, he continued softly. "- could you teach me to draw? And paint? And… everything else you do? Please?"

She stood, coming closer to him, not breaking eye contact. Slowly, she cupped his face with her talons, and drew him near.

"I would be honoured." she smiled, mischief shimmering in those emeralds. "Prince Rainbow."

"Thanks- wait, what?"

Giggling, she spun him towards the window. Faintly, he saw his reflection in the ice; his face was smeared with lines of multicoloured paint, all down his jaw.

He turned back to Foeslayer, who was laughing in delight, paint-stained talons raised. For a second, he was just shocked. Then, he grinned.

"Ready to become Princess Rainbow, my dear?" he asked, before he pouncing towards the paint pots sitting atop his desk, drenching his talons in the liquid before flinging them towards Foeslayer. They splattered across her snout, and she gasped.

"You dare!"

Before they knew it, they were running around the room, knocking over cabinets, leaping over the bed, trying to cover the other in paint.

And Arctic felt…

Alive.

There was no other word for it.

As he barely dodged another blob of paint sailing through the air, retaliating with a few droplets of his own, he felt rooted in the moment.

It was great.

It was… heavenly.

Divine.

The minutes blended together like the multiple colours and shades of paint coating their bodies. Eventually, they ran out of paint, and had to stop. And then Foeslayer realised that she had to get back to the dome of diplomacy soon, because otherwise people would notice that she was missing.

As she had stood in his doorway, saying goodbye, he had almost died laughing.

Paint was dripping off her body, and she was covered almost head to toe in the thick, viscous liquid. In fact, there was only one tiny patch on her face that was still untarnished.

"I-" he had to stop to let out another giggle. "-I'll see you tomorrow night, right?"

She had grinned. "Same place?"

He leaned forward, brushing a tiny spot underneath her eye, covering that final spot with some nice magenta. "Definitely."

And then she'd turned away and waltzed down the hall, leaving paint footprints behind on the ground.

He had laughed.

And he'd continued laughing as he used his bedsheet to mop up the footprints, which faded the further she walked, eventually disappearing. And he'd continued laughing as he'd shut his door, aware that the sun was no more than a half-hour away from rising, and that he hadn't slept at all.

And he'd continued laughing as he looked upon the mess in his room- his pillows were scattered everywhere, his writing desk had been destroyed, his chair and most of his cabinets had been knocked over, and absolutely everything was covered in paint- rapidly drying paint, he might add, that would probably never come out…

And he'd continued laughing as he slumped down into a heap at the foot of his bed, but it wasn't happy anymore. It was… manic.

And so were his wide eyes.

And his dilated pupils.

And at that moment, there were only two thoughts running through his mind.

…

…

…

_I'm in love with a Nightwing._

…_._

…_._

…

…

…

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 3

It had been an absolute nightmare, but his room was finally cleaned.

Of course, by 'cleaned', he meant that he had taken everything that had paint on it, and either stuffed it into his wardrobe, or shoved it into a drawer or cabinet. All the furniture had been returned to its original positions, and he had drawn back the curtains.

Everything looked marginally better than it had before.

Of course, there was still a lot of paint in random places, but the sun was just beginning to rise, and the events of the night (as well as the past day) were beginning to catch up to Arctic.

The Icewing was curled up on his bed, which was missing its pillows, bedsheet and mattress, casually inspecting the picture Foeslayer had drawn.

He had never seen anything that vibrant… ever. Well, maybe excluding the Northern Lights. But… there was just something about it. Something more real, something more grounded, that he couldn't really put his finger on…

…

He was in love.

There was no other explanation.

And…

…

…

…what?

"What?" he said aloud.

Nobody answered.

Predictably.

He hadn't blinked in the past hour.

His eyes stung.

_I'm…. in love._

He was suddenly very aware of the dopey grin on his face.

"I'm in love..." he repeated aloud, unable to stop the smile from coming through in his voice. "I'm in love!"

Oh lord, the- the happiness, the joy that exploded in his mind the instant he said that- it was incredible!

A knock.

He scrambled to his feet, rushing to the door. Throwing it open, he came face to face with-

Snowfall.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!" he yelled.

"We need to talk." she said, not waiting for an answer before pushing past him into his room.

"Wait, wha-"

"Whatever you're playing at with that Nightwing won't work." she said, turning to him. "The Icewings will never accept her, and you'll end up forfeiting the throne. Do you really want that?"

Arctic stared at her in shock.

"H- how did you-"

"I'm the only other person who lives in this tower, Arctic. I moved here after Glacier told me to. You guys made enough noise to keep me awake all night."

"B- but-"

"I saw you two making googly eyes at each other at the banquet. I'm not an idiot, Arctic. I'm bland as fuck, yes, but I'm not an idiot."

"Wait-"

"Also, did I just hear you scream that you were in love?"

"What?"

For a second, they were at an impasse- Snowflake staring at him with her unnaturally sharp eyes, and him looking back with pure confusion in his.

She sighed, taking a seat on his bed and putting her head in her talons.

"Good lord, Arctic, _please _tell me you're some sort of heartless monster who's leading her along. _Please,"_

Arctic opened and closed his mouth like a guppy. "Ummmm…."

"You're not, are you." she said in shock. "You genuinely like her."

He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Snowflake groaned loudly.

"You know what, I give up." she got up from where she sat, and walked back to the door.

"Just remember, that whatever you end up doing with her, you will be forfeiting your right to the throne. That means Queen Diamond gets to stay. _Diamond._ And if she dies, Snowfox takes her place. You've _met _Snowfox, Arctic. Do you really think she'll make a good queen? Sure, she's hot and smart, but she's also a fucking _sadist. _Do you want to be the person who puts her in charge of the Ice kingdom?"

Arctic said nothing. Eventually, Snowflake sighed.

"Whatever hair-brained scheme you're pulling here, just don't get me involved in it. Ignorance is _fucking _bliss and all that."

And then she threw open the door hard enough that the door handle shattered against the wall, and sauntered away down the hall, leaving a very confused Arctic behind.

As her footsteps faded away, he slapped a talon onto his face, and slowly dragged it down. All the energy he'd _just _had had disappeared completely, and he just felt tired.

_Good lord._

"…I haven't had enough sleep to deal with this…" he mumbled, turning and retreating back into his room.

* * *

Their sessions were usually late at night, after everybody in the Nightwing camp was _fast _asleep. Usually, Foeslayer would arrive, and teach him how to draw. It was always fun, despite the fact that Arctic was clearly _not _a natural, and that he was messing up _way _more than he found acceptable.

Regardless, Foeslayer always found a way to cheer him up. Maybe she would suddenly burst into song, or challenge him to a game of hide and seek, or take his talon in hers and delicately help him trace the outline of what it was he wanted to draw…

He was in love.

There was no doubt whatsoever.

It was an utter infatuation. He could barely think about anything that wasn't her; he spent his days in a haze, stumbling from classroom to classroom, royal advisor to tutor, barely even talking to his classmates…

Just mesmerised by her.

By her beauty.

By her intelligence.

By her grace.

By her.

Even on the nights where she would have prior engagements- perhaps helping Wisdom edit the treaty they were _still _working on- he would lay awake and think.

About her.

About a life with her.

Because of course, the Icewings wouldn't let them be together, would they? Snowflake was right, in that regard at least.

Lord, why'd this have to be so complicated?

He paced back and forth in his room, constantly checking the time. Generally, if Foeslayer wasn't there by the time the moon was a quarter risen, she wouldn't be showing up. This… was shaping up to be one of those nights.

He sighed, turning away from the window and walking over to his bed. She… probably wouldn't be there, and that was a shame. They'd started sketching dragons in their previous session, and she was going to be teaching him more about dragon anatomy this time.

It was disappointing, but understandable.

He crept into bed, anticipating another lonely, sleepless night.

Except it wasn't.

Because about two hours later, when the moon was at its apex, and Arctic was simply lying under his blankets, a pillow on his head, trying to drown out the thoughts, his door creaked open.

_Wait, wasn't it locked-_

With a sinking feeling, he realised that Snowflake had shattered the door handle after she had left his room. That meant that any manner of assassin could just walk in and kill him.

…_crap._

He readied his animus powers, anticipating an attack.

Suddenly, the covers at the other end of his bed rustled, and cold air wafted over him as they were pulled away from his mattress. The bed slowly bent under the weight of another dragon, and Arctic finally worked up the courage to open his eyes.

All he saw was a glimpse of green scales so dark they might as well be black, silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in through his window, before the dragon flopped down next to him.

"Foeslayer-" he began.

She pulled him into an embrace so tight he could barely breathe, and then let out a long, wavering breath. Her talons dug into the skin just above where his wings met his torso, and her head was thrown over his right shoulder, cheek resting against his. He could hear her soft breathing; as well as her attempts to conceal her cries.

"…Foeslayer-"

She sobbed- a wretched, choking sound that made him almost instinctively wrap his arms around her, stroking her back as she wailed. Her tears ran down her scales and onto Winter's, whereupon quite a few of them froze.

He opened his mouth again, about to speak…

And then decided against it.

Speaking could come later.

For now, he just held her, doing his best to wipe the tears from her eyes, and…

It hurt.

It genuinely hurt, seeing somebody who was as happy, as carefree, as _incredible _as Foeslayer was, like this. To see her in such apparent pain, and him not being able to do anything about it…

He hated it.

They lay there for what felt like half the night. Eventually, her cries ceased, and she just remained as she was, moulded against his body. And he kept running his talons along the thin ridge of her spine, and soothing her…

"Better?" he whispered, and he felt her nod.

"Sorry, I-" another soft sob, and he held her tighter.

"Hey, it's alright, you don't have to speak until you're comfortable."

She cried out again, and he softly nuzzled her neck. He… he knew how this felt. He knew the feeling of being unable to speak because he was afraid he would burst into tears. He knew the desire to take comfort in the physical, to clutch at another person until the storm had subsided.

He knew.

In that moment, he felt closer to her than he had to any other person, ever.

She slowly relaxed, and took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Sorry. I just…"

There was a pause, a pause during which he drew away from her a bit, so as to more clearly see her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the lines her tears had taken as they fell from her face were clearly visible.

"…I just needed you."

He didn't know what sudden urge inside of him motivated him to do what he did next. But for some reason, his stupid brain decided to lean forward, and make his rebellious talons slowly brush her tears away.

"…thank you for trusting me." he responded.

She laughed. "What reason have you given me not to?"

That made him feel a bit better.

Scratch that. A lot better.

And it was at that exact moment that he realised the situation he was in. He was in a bed. With a girl. Who was from another tribe. Who he had a crush on.

….fuck.

"What happened?" he asked, still rubbing away at the tears creeping out from under her eyelids. She sighed, and almost smiled.

"It… it seems like nothing now, but… my mother basically told me that I would be an utter failure in every endeavour I ever undertook, and would die alone and hapless."

Arctic's mouth literally dropped open in shock.

"Why the… flying fuck would she say that?"

"Because I am."

Arctic blinked as he processed this.

"I mean… you're not." he said blankly.

"I am!" she protested, stifling another sniffle. "I'm no good at anything."

That, for some reason, made Arctic let out a slight burst of laughter.

"Not good at anything?" he asked. "You can sing, and draw, and dance, and _all _of these amazing things that I can't do for shit!"

"Yeah, but none of that… helps! I just kind of walk around, doing nothing. I'm not intelligent, I'm clumsy, I'm… worthless."

He pulled her away from him so he could look her in the eyes.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"It's not, really." she sighed. "I'm just… not very useful."

Arctic brought her closer. "Remember what you said to me when we first met?"

That brought a grin onto her face. "What I said to you about a week ago?"

"Yup."

"Lots of things."

"You told me that you always tried to see the beauty in the world, didn't you?"

"…yes?"

"And that's just it!"

He cupped her face with his talons. "You have the remarkable ability to make everything around you beautiful, even when it isn't. You see the best in people. You brighten their lives! I mean, you've basically changed mine in the one week you've been here.

"Who cares if you're not the best at politics, or 'scroll sorting' or whatever else you have to do. You aren't worthless. You can make everything beautiful." he proclaimed. "And nothing will _ever _beat that."

She stared at him in shock.

"I'd… never thought about it like that."

She laughed. "Guess I really am an idiot-"

He kissed her.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he did.

The contact was brief; barely lasting a moment, in fact.

But the aftermath…

Foeslayer stared at him for a long second, and he couldn't gauge her emotions at all. Then she smiled, and fell back into his arms.

"Thanks." she whispered. "I needed that."

And he held her, and stroked her spine, and rested his head on the crook of her shoulder.

But in his mind, something began to brew…

…the first strands of an idea, taking form.


	5. Chapter 4

They lay there, tangled so tightly in one another that they couldn't even tell where one ended and the other began. Arctic could see her breath as her chest rose and fell, condensing in the icy air.

It was the middle of the night, and the soft glow of the moonlight streaming in through the window illuminated Foeslayer almost entirely. Even the parts of her that remained shadowed seemed to glint lightly, almost playfully. He was suddenly reminded of her blinding smile.

She looked beautiful.

…

They did this sometimes.

Just lay there, together, after a long, hard day of work. Foeslayer would sometimes tell him about the work Wisdom had her do, or rant to him about her mother. Sometimes, Arctic would tell her about being a prince, and having to deal with his mother.

Today, however, things were different.

He still remembered how she'd shown up, earlier that day. Almost in tears.

How she'd looked, for the first time since he'd known her, defeated.

"We're leaving tomorrow."

And his heart had sank.

Now, they just lay there.

Imagining life without the other.

They had grown so close, so used to each other, that it would be nothing short of nightmarish trying to live apart.

So now, just an hour or two before dawn…

He knew what he had to do.

Slowly, he extracted himself from her tight grip, and leaned over, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

"You are my best friend. The love of my life. And I promise that I will never hurt you."

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, composed himself, and then clambered out of bed.

He didn't know how he could have these… feelings for somebody who he had known only for a few weeks at most. But he couldn't deny them.

He almost laughed as he walked across his room to the door, claws clinking against the icy floor. Maybe Snowfall was right, and he was making a huge mistake.

It didn't really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

As he opened the door, he glanced back at her still form, curled up in the multitude of blankets, the earring he'd given her almost invisible in this light.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Clutching at the piece of paper he'd swiped from his desk, he walked into the hall.

* * *

Foeslayer was panicking.

She'd woken up to find Arctic missing, with no explanation. In her groggy state of mind, she hadn't been able to think straight, but now that she was walking back to the diplomat's dome, she'd realised that he might be about to try something stupid.

_Please don't let that be the case. _She pleaded silently, rounding a corner to find the entire dome packed with people. They seemed to be mainly conversing with the Nightwings, which made sense, considering the fact that they were leaving later today.

As she walked into the space, she was suddenly clocked, albeit delicately, across the back of the head.

"Where were you?" Wisdom asked.

Foeslayer rubbed the spot, letting an apologetic grin wander onto her face. "Sorry, I was off exploring."

Wisdom glared at her, but her expression soon softened. "Well, no harm done. We're leaving today, and these _maniacs _woke us up at this ungodly hour to throw us a going away celebration."

As Wisdom spoke, a deep ache echoed through Foeslayer's heart. If things were to go according to plan, she would never see Arctic after today. And… she hated that.

"Still, get your ass in gear!" Wisdom gently shoved her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go inhale some more of that seal. It is _delicious!"_

As the elderly Nightwing tottered away, the grin on Foeslayer's face faded. She leaned against the icy wall behind her.

_Well, at least he hasn't tried anything stupid yet._

Suddenly, a crash echoed through the room. Quiet gasps and sounds of dismay filled the air.

"I had my eye on that!" Wisdom complained.

Foeslayer stood on her toes, trying to peek over the heads of the other dragons. Having just knocked over one of the servers, Arctic was covered in sopping seal juices. Out of the corner of her eyes, Foeslayer could see Queen Diamond moving towards him, a disapproving look etched into her snout.

_Brilliant. _

Arctic tried to clean the juices off himself, but soon decided it was a lost cause. Noticing Queen Diamond's progress towards him, he suddenly threw his arms in the air.

"I have decided upon my gift to the Icewings!"

Utter silence permeated the air. You could hear a pin drop.

"…what?" Diamond growled.

"I have decided upon my gift to the Icewings, mother." he responded coolly. "Like we discussed. Remember?"

Diamond opened her mouth to say that she _didn't _remember, since they had never had that conversation, but stopped. Of course, claiming that Arctic was going against her wishes would mean admitting that her son had disobeyed her- and that would imply that she was a weak ruler. Slowly, haunches raised, she backed away.

Arctic grinned, before realising that every single eye in the dome was on him.

"Ummm…"

A piece of seal meat slid off his right shoulder as he shifted, slapping against the floor.

Silence.

"…my gift to all of you was initially going to be a healing spell."

More silence, but now it seemed more comforting that imposing. Arctic glanced about, before moving towards the other end of the dome; opposite to the entrance. The sea of dragons parted to let him through.

"However, I soon realised that this would be very ineffective. So, I began brainstorming."

Suddenly, he stopped moving and unfurled his hand, delicately lifting up a piece of crumpled paper. Sighing in relief when he realised it wasn't soaked, he moved on.

"Could I reinforce the ice wall? No, that would be unoriginal. Could I make more bracelets for diplomats? No, I didn't like that idea."

Foeslayer smiled slightly, pushing aside an Icewing so she could see Arctic better. He had finally reached the wall, and delicately ran his talons across the surface, careful not to scratch it with his talons.

"…then I realised what the idea gift would be."

He turned back to the assembled crowd; a large amount of Icewings interspersed with a few Nightwings. Wren was hovering in midair, which afforded him a prime view of the proceedings.

For a second, Arctic seemed to hesitate. Then his eyes met Foeslayer's.

She grinned.

He beamed, and turned back to the wall. Muttering under his breath, he relaxed. Then, quick as a viper, he drew his arm back, and drove a single claw into the ice.

A series of dark lines began spreading out from the impact point. Though at first looking like the results of the ice shattering, they soon began to take on colours. Slowly, they extended all the way up the dome, almost all the way to the top.

It took no more than a second, and Foeslayer could barely process any of it.

Just, one second there was nothing but a couple of cracks, and then…

…a butterfly.

It sprung almost fully formed from the wall; a front facing portrait that displayed its wings and underbelly in all their glory. They were all shades of black and grey and blue and green and purple…

"…the gift of beauty." Arctic pronounced, turning back to the crowd. Maybe she was just seeing stuff, but to Foeslayer it looked as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Thank you." he said, before he simply walked out. The sounds of his sopping footsteps soon faded from earshot, leaving the entire room full of confused dragons.

Well, almost all of them…

Foeslayer stared at the picture. Even as the other's dispersed, and the Nightwings began preparations to move out…

She drank in that incredible image.

Just a simple butterfly.

* * *

**Two days later…**

The other Nightwings still infuriated him.

They were crass, annoying, and kept referring to him as 'dearie'.

Then again, he guessed he wasn't the best travelling companion.

Especially considering their hasty escape…

He still winced every time he remembered Snowflake getting hit. He wished he could've avoided it, but alas; the Icewings wouldn't have let him go without a fight.

There was only one person he was doing this for.

Foeslayer.

He sighed, tracing a small circle in the soft earth. She had been the only reason he had done everything that he'd done; that he'd given the Icewings the gift of beauty, that he'd ran away with her, that he was now enduring the likes of not frozen forests, which sucked because pine needles and dirt kept getting in between his scales-

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he brought her visage to the front of his mind.

_Do it for her. _

_Do it for her. _

_Do it for her._

Quickly opening his eyes, he glanced about.

"Hey, where's Foeslayer?" he wondered aloud.

The other dragons setting up camp paused, and looked back at him.

"…last I saw her, she was talking to Prudence." Wisdom mentioned, siding up with him. "Why? Is it finally time for the _mating ceremony?"_

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Arctic blushed, averting his gaze.

"No, I… just want to talk to her."

He didn't want to admit it.

But he felt lost without her, among all these strange dragons.

…and sometimes a bit lonely.

He got up from where he sat, and walked out of the clearing. He still had no clear plan on how he was going to _find _Foeslayer, though…

_Ah, there we are._

Small footprints in the squishy substance the Nightwings called 'mud', filled in with small puddles of water.

Arctic sighed as he began following them. He still wasn't used to most of these things; the temperature, the lack of ice, the people…

He and Foeslayer would get through it together.

He was sure of it.

Navigating around some coniferous trees, he came upon Foeslayer, just… sitting, propped up against one, staring up at the sky.

"Hey." he said, letting a small smile wander onto his face.

"Hey." she responded, attempting a smile, but falling short.

A small silence.

"…what's bugging you?" he asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Nothing."

He inspected her face; the deep lines of worry etched into her snout, the small undulations in the area around her nose, her slightly trembling lip…

He rested his head on her shoulder.

"…it's just us against the world now, Foeslayer." he mentioned.

"That's just it, I-" she choked slightly.

"Hey, it's alright! Just talk to me."

Foeslayer hesitated for a spilt second, and then continued.

"M- I was just talking to Prudence, and she… she said that the only reason that she brought me on the mission was because she knew I would be _stupid _enough to fall in love with you."

A pause.

"…do you think that falling in love with me was a mistake?" Arctic asked softly.

"No! I just… my mother…"

Arctic softly took her talon in his.

"Your mother does not matter, alright? It doesn't matter what she did, or what she wanted us to do. We can't change the past. We can only make the future better."

She turned towards him, and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you." she whispered.

As he gently ran his talons along her spine, he let his eyes wander.

…

"Is that a butterfly?" he asked.

Foeslayer sniffled, and opened her eyes.

"It is."

A tiny creature, no longer than one of Arctic's claws, slowly fluttered across the backdrop of trees. Its scales were a gradient of deep orange, with black veins and tiny white spots dotting the rest of its wings.

Slowly, it came close to the ground, and settled next to one of the footprints Arctic had left in the mud, which had filled with water.

"That's nice." Foeslayer said. "It's drinking."

"Really?" Arctic asked, almost entranced by it. Slowly, he shifted, moving closer to it.

"Yeah. They drink from mud puddles."

The Icewing lowered his face to the ground, very close to where the butterfly sat, and inspected it more closely.

"…it's so pretty!"

Foeslayer smiled softly, siding up to him. "It is. Don't get too close- they won't be able to fly if they're too cold."

Arctic retracted his talon from where he was reaching out to it, grinning sheepishly. Both him and Foeslayer watched as it slowly took off, flittering away.

"…that was incredible." he said.

They stayed silent for a while, content with each other's company.

"…gotta appreciate the small things, right?" Foeslayer grinned, turning to face him.

"Yup."

Another pause.

"…we'll be there for each other, right?"

Arctic smiled. "Always. I promise this to you right now. I will _always _be there for you."

Foeslayer laughed in relief. "And I for you."

Another pause.

"Let's go back to camp. I need to tell your mother to fuck off."

* * *

**Seven months later…**

"I… don't know what to do!"

"Just relax and keep standing there. You'll be fine."

"…we're really high up. Won't they end up falling?"

Foeslayer sighed, moving the eggs into the moonlight. "We've been doing this for generations, Arctic. The dragonets will be perfectly safe up here."

A lull in the conversation as the howling winds rose. A storm was on the horizon; he could tell. And he was incredibly worried that- maybe the eggs wouldn't hatch before it arrived, or maybe the winds would blow the eggs off, or maybe-

He shook his head. Worrying wouldn't help anybody here.

"…are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes! I'm-"

One of the eggs cracked.

Arctic gasped. Suddenly, both of them were very, very still.

A tiny talon smashed through the walls of the egg, its scales glinting in the moonlight.

Foeslayer breathed a massive sigh of relief.

Slowly, another talon broke through the walls, and a dragonet stumbled out. It blinked softly, and then yawned, splitting its mouth to reveal two layers of perfectly even teeth.

"Darkstalker." Foeslayer laughed, holding out her arms.

"_Darkstalker?" _Arctic asked incredulously, but he too bent down, a modicum of warmth erupting in his heart as the tiny dragon moved towards them. The thing was almost entirely dark, looking every bit the Nightwing his mother did. But as it unsteadily shifted, clawing the dark rock underneath it, it attempted to flare his wings, revealing for just a second a single line of white scales along its underside.

"A hero that chases away the dark." Foeslayer said, watching his progress with sharp eyes. "You know, stalking the dark?"

For a split second, Arctic thought of arguing. He thought of putting his foot down, and claiming that Darkstalker was a _stupid _name to give a dragon, that it made it sound like a villain-

And then he stopped.

Because he had made a promise.

"…dibs on naming the other one." he said quickly. And just like that, the tension between them disappeared. Foeslayer grinned, the moonlight trapped between her sharp-white talons, and turned back to watch their son.

Darkstalker- _lord, that name would take some getting used to- _was now approaching the other egg, curiously probing its surface. Slowly, the egg's pearly surface began turning silver.

"What's happening?" he asked softly, not wanting to disturb anything.

"…he's helping the other egg hatch." Foeslayer said, pride evident in her voice. "Two thrice-moonborn dragonets; good lord, Arctic!"

Despite himself, Arctic found a massive smile wandering onto his face.

"…he really is a Darkstalker, isn't he?"

Swiftly, yet gently, the dragonet pierced the silvery shell. The pieces fell inwards, and there was a pause as all three dragons tried to peer inside the miniscule opening. Then another dragonet, scales as white and vibrant as the moon, crashed out, moving almost drowsily. She slowly shook herself, touched her nose to her brother's, and then moved towards him and Foeslayer.

Though Darkstalker immediately gravitated towards Foeslayer, the other one moved towards Arctic. Before he could even process what was happening, she was climbing into his arms, her clumsy claws delicately scratching his scales.

Slowly, he brought her closer to his face. She looked tired, as though she hadn't expected to be woken up this early; yet in the moonlight, her scales shone so brightly he was certain he would be blinded if he looked at her any longer.

"…what will you be naming her?" Foeslayer asked softly, peering over his shoulder at her.

He slowly lowered one of his arms so that his mate could see their daughter better.

"…Whiteout." he said.

A pause, as she processed this information. Arctic took the time to glance at Darkstalker, who was currently curled up against her torso.

"…it's perfect." Foeslayer responded.

And as they turned to walk back inside their home, dazed by everything that had happened, and no doubt unaware of what the future held…

The three moons shone on.


	6. those above

_they fly across the sky;  
non-existent, yet almost living  
so far above the world, soaring  
untouchable  
yet paying the price, by being unable to touch_

_they flitter hither and dither, touching the tops of crystal-clear lakes as they dart into pale purple skies  
and wait  
for destinies to come to their talon'd feet;  
three claws apiece,  
for them to peck and paw at  
to their heart's content  
to disassemble and deconstruct  
but never to live out  
never to experience_

_they are restless;  
restless to reimagine everything  
about their lives- their futures  
streaking across the skies like a phoenix,  
beautiful, yet finite-  
they wish to change themselves,  
yet they do not learn…_

_in the end  
they are untrue  
and honestly_

_what could be truer to life  
than those  
that aren't what they seem  
or what they claim to be  
or what they think they are…_


	7. Chapter 5

A slight rustling, of all things, was what roused him from his sleep.

It's what made him slowly cast his eyes open, what made him silently take in his surroundings; soft white down piled all around him, rumpled in odd places; sheets gently waving in the morning breeze as sunlight streamed in through his window, a welcome change from the storms that had plagued the kingdom for the past few days; the scent of crisp, leather parchment and the dull aroma of ink wafting from his desk; and a slight, almost inaudible sound.

He cast his mind about, acutely aware of where the rustling was coming from.

_Whiteout? _Darkstalker asked.

He didn't hear her thoughts. He never did, in fact. She thought… differently- in colours and waves and… it was hard to quantify. It had taken him years to even interpret her mind on a surface level- years of work just to eventually figure out that the brighter shades of colour that sometimes saturated her mind were negative; and darker, richer shades were positive.

Even now, as she lay suspended in the deep limbo between sleep and consciousness, he could see a distant crest of deep green broiling, advancing like a tsunami towards the front of her mind. He wondered what it meant.

_Rest your mind, brother. _she yawned, and he could hear her bedsheets rustling as she turned over. _It is my joy at being awake you see._

_Of course. _He grinned, retreating from her mind before it got too crazy.

In the same amount of time he'd taken to figure out what the shades of her mind meant, she had determined how to talk to him mentally, using both their mind reading abilities; learned how to tell how he felt at any arbitrary moment; and helped him control his visions of the future- almost to the point where he didn't have them anymore.

Darkstalker turned over too, now facing the shade-dappled partition that acted as a barrier between them. Their rooms were separated by only a thin leaf covering, so he could hear basically all the noises his sister made in her sleep. He didn't mind it. It was comforting, knowing that she was there.

Slowly, he attempted to glance into her mind- and immediately retreated, overwhelmed by the colours crashing against one another in massive tower blocks, and the eerily soothing siren calls.

_Sorry! _she squeaked, and he heard her stumbling out of her bed.

"No, it's fine-" he began to protest aloud, but before he could finish his sentence, she had pushed aside the partition, and darted over to where he lay.

As she took a seat next to him, she pulled most of his blankets towards her. Shrugging them onto her shoulders, she turned to face him, eyes wide with worry.

"I still haven't figured out how to make it stop." she admitted sheepishly.

"You don't have to." he responded firmly, aware of what she meant- and hating it.

Ever since she had been a dragonet, everybody had been able to tell that she didn't think or act like most other people. And of course, their father- former Prince Arctic- had constantly painted this as a bad thing. If it had been up to him, he would've paraded her all around the Night Kingdom, trying to change her.

Of course, it wasn't up to him- their mother, Foeslayer, had put a stop to that very quickly. And to be fair, Arctic hadn't brought it up in a long time.

It just infuriated Darkstalker, that his sister believed that she needed to 'fix' herself. She was perfect the way she was.

Whiteout sighed, cocooned herself further into the blankets, and looked out of the window. A small smile wandered onto her face, highlighted gracefully by the early-morning sunshine. As she sat there, Darkstalker noticed a small smidge of bright green paint under her left eye- probably a remnant from one of her painting sessions.

"I'm excited." she said simply

"Why?" he asked, casting aside the covers and stretching as he got out of bed.

"Today's the day you meet Clearsight." she said, inspecting her paint-stained nails through the duvet.

Even as his pupils narrowed in shock, Darkstalker's eyes widened.

"W- what?" he asked incredulously, turning back to face her.

"Yes." she replied.

He just stared at her, mouth utterly agape.

"…why didn't you tell me earlier? Like, I don't know, _yesterday?"_

"You were worrying too much."

He groaned as he turned and sprinted towards the door, aware that she was right. He just wished that she wouldn't make decisions like that for him-

_No, it isn't her fault. _he thought as he threw his door open, rushing down the narrow hall to the bathroom.

_Besides, she knows what she's doing. She's been doing it since I was a dragonet._

Ever since he'd been a young child, he had suffered from nightmares because of his future seeing. Therefore, Whiteout had taught him to block it out. Sure, he could see into the future, but only if he specifically wanted to, and it was always hazy. He preferred to rely on his mind reading.

For instance, judging by his father's thoughts, Arctic was inside the bathroom at this very moment, hoping to freshen up before he headed to work.

_He isn't going to be pleased with this. _

Darkstalker didn't even hesitate, kicking the door down and elbowing Arctic out of the way.

"Sorry, emergency!" he shouted as he turned to the mirror, wetting his hand and using it to smoothen the contours of his face. Quickly knocking the dried salt from where it had crusted around his eyelids, he turned to the basin of water in the corner of the room, and dunked his head under.

_What? _Arctic thought, still dazed.

"Sorry again." Darkstalker said as he surfaced, grabbing a towel out of Arctic's outstretched hand, and using it to wipe the excess water from his face.

"I'm meeting my soulmate today!" he screamed as he ran back to his room, slick talons sliding on the dark rock. He paused for a spilt second to shake the water from his hands, careful not to damage the paintings that lined the walls.

"Meeting who?" Foeslayer called drowsily, appearing in the doorway as Darkstalker barrelled past her.

"His soulmate." Arctic grumbled from behind her, but that was all he heard. He darted into his room, ran over to his desk- littered as it was with sketches of random dragons and objects- mostly Clearsight, as Whiteout had described her to him- and several miscellaneous poems, the most recent pinned to the wood by his quill; stabbed in a bout of frustration.

He grabbed his rucksack, held the two flaps aside, pulled the quill out of the oak and threw it in, and then proceeded to sweep across the entire desk, causing everything on his desk to fall in too. A few stragglers fluttered to the ground, and he struggled to grab them and shove them in.

"Why are you so anxious?" Whiteout asked from where she sat on his bed, still curled up in his covers. She hadn't moved.

"B- because- I- I can't do this!"

He turned to face her, gesturing to himself.

"I can't talk to other people without weeks of preparation! And… and Clearsight is still other people! I don't know what I'll do! Our relationship is going to be based on my sense of humour, and my charisma, and… other things she'll only appreciate if I _don't _screw up our first meeting!"

With a grunt, he heaved his now-bulging bag onto the table.

"Whiteout, couldn't… couldn't _you_ tell me what to say?"

Whiteout smiled, stood up, and walked over to him.

"Brother mine, the best possible future is one where I don't tell you what to say. She's your soulmate, not mine!"

He sighed, dragging a talon down his face. Then he inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders.

"Right. I just… need to be myself!"

"Indeed. Clearsight isn't superficial! You'll be fine."

He smiled back at her, slowly wiped the paint from under her eye with his still-damp talons, and then hoisted the bag onto his back, rushing out into the living room.

Foeslayer had her head down, almost asleep at the table. Arctic had been trying to hide the dark circles around his eyes in the bathroom, but Darkstalker had quickly put a stop to that. He too sat at the table, nursing a warm drink.

As Darkstalker ran for the door, his father set down his cup. "Remember to take your slate!" he reminded the young dragon.

Darkstalker sighed, skidding to a stop. Arctic was adamant about the family not wasting parchment, and always made them use slates when they could- despite the fact that Darkstalker didn't like them.

Grabbing the slate from where it lay, he turned again, ready to burst out of the door, and fly to school.

"Good luck!" Arctic called out.

"Wait, where are you going?" Foeslayer asked, finally picking her head up.

"To meet my soulmate!" he screamed as he threw the door open, spread his wings and took off, finally escaping into the cloudless blue sky.

If he'd stayed for a few seconds longer, he would've seen Foeslayer shake her head in confusion. He would've seen her walk over to the window, and check their sundial.

"…school doesn't start for another two hours."

* * *

Clearsight knew.

Of course she did.

She'd been mapping out potential futures for several years. Her room was filled almost to the brim with notebooks upon notebooks of long, winding timelines. She had three separate vision boards, a large textbook, and a window dedicated entirely to mapping the events of most days.

She knew what was going to happen when she walked into school that morning. She knew how Whiteout would accidentally disturb a game of marbles, and apologise. She knew how Darkstalker would see her, going very still as he did. How he would deliberately try to block out her thoughts as he would try to approach her, and then turn tail, certain that he needed to try something bigger.

She didn't follow. The timelines in which she followed him were… complicated.

Instead, she headed to her first class.

It went well; though the large windows were almost too tantalizing to ignore, tempting her to retreat back to her home; her room, and revise her charts of the future- _flashes of darkness permeated her mind, and she abandoned that idea-_and everything the teacher was saying was incredibly boring, especially considering that Clearsight had already played out this entire lecture in multiple different timelines.

Still, there was one upside to this ordeal.

Whiteout sat in the other corner, interacting respectfully with all those around her, but keeping a close eye on Clearsight. She understood. This was their first meeting, and since they were both future seers, they had a responsibility- to work together, and prevent catastrophe.

Everything had to go perfectly.

With that, Clearsight stopped chewing on the end of her quill, and resolved to write down at least every other word the teacher said.

_Might as well get _some _work done._

After that came lunch, held outside in the courtyard. The sky was almost completely cloudless, and the cool breeze causing the long grass to wave was incredibly refreshing. As Clearsight stepped outside the building, she inhaled deeply.

_Perfect._

She grabbed a sandwich from the counter and escaped the line, almost aware of what was to come next. There were hundreds of different timelines, far as she could see; some where Darkstalker showed up right now, trying- and failing- to romance her; some where a random Nightwing tried to bully Whiteout and got his ass handed to him; some where Queen Vigilance showed up and gave a special announcement.

These futures weren't equally likely- they were hierarchical, and Clearsight could usually see the one most likely to happen most clearly. Sometimes, though, more unlikely futures happened. It was all a game of probability, after all.

She felt a slight twinge in her brain as she turned. Looking to her right, she realised that Whiteout had swiped a warm drink from the counter and was advancing towards her.

_And of course, one of those unlikely futures is going to happen now. _She grumbled, her mind filling with new and exciting images.

_Good lord, this is going to screw up all my charts for today. _

Before Clearsight could protest, Whiteout had pulled her aside, dragged her across the courtyard, and sat her down at the far end of a long table, away from prying eyes or ears.

"Apologies for throwing off your 'sight', as you refer to it." she began immediately, not maintaining eye contact. "I just saw this as the perfect opportunity to get comfortable with you before… you know."

She slowly touched her neck, still not maintaining eye contact. Clearsight wondered if anything was wrong.

"Oh, nothing's wrong." Whiteout responded, eyes casting themselves everywhere but the Nightwing's face. "This is just… who I am, unfortunately."

Clearsight suddenly realised her folly. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it-"

"It's alright!" Whiteout flashed her a disarming smile, looking into her eyes for a split second before looking just over her shoulder. "Everybody has questions. And considering that you're going to be Darkstalker's soulmate… you should probably be privy to information about my condition."

A pause, as the dragon sighed. "Darkstalker would kill me if he heard me refer to myself that way."

Clearsight saw the opportunity to change the subject, and took it.

"Speaking of my soulmate, what's he up to?"

"He's nervous." she responded immediately. "Off hiding somewhere, confident he needs some sort of big gesture to introduce himself to you. See, he doesn't show it, but he hasn't got a very high opinion of himself."

"Oh."

Whiteout took another sip of her warm drink, and looked back at Clearsight.

"Duck."

Clearsight didn't hesitate, bringing her head closer to the table just as something sailed above it.

Whiteout caught it with a splat, revealing it to be a sodden piece of paper. Roughly, she threw it back. Clearsight heard a large smack from behind her, and a dragon crying out in shock.

"Work on your aim, prick!" Whiteout called in a voice that was uncharacteristically gruff. Then she coughed, and reverted back to her usual melodic tones.

"Apologies. Being the children of the most talked about couple in the Night kingdom does mean that we have to deal with this sort of stuff."

"Oh, you don't have to apologise!" Clearsight said, looking over her shoulder to make sure the perpetrator wasn't gearing up to lug another projectile their way.

"You don't have to worry about that." Whiteout said, taking another sip of her tea. "I've mapped out this conversation perfectly. Along with all possible trajectories for the rest of the day. Rest assured, no matter what ends up happening, I have a plan for it. Incidentally, that's why I'm not hesitating while talking to you- I've rehearsed this conversation multiple times over."

She took another sip, and Clearsight noticed how tightly she was holding onto the clay cup.

_She must be nervous._

"Oh, I am!" Whiteout continued. "Very nervous. This could make or break the rest of my brother's life! If I'm not careful, I could send him down a very dark path. I should point out though, since we're laying all our cards on the table here, that I'll always be a _little_ nervous around other people. And of course, that isn't counting the panic attacks…"

She trailed off, electing to take another sip of her drink. Clearsight took another bite out of her sandwich as she tried to keep her thoughts neutral- and failed miserably.

_Desperate times call for desperate measures. _She thought resolutely. Maybe a catchy tune would help keep her mind free of thoughts…

…

_Oh, she'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes…  
Oh, she'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes…  
She'll be coming 'round the mountain-_

Whiteout grimaced. "Sorry. I always seem to forget that other dragons aren't as comfortable with mind reading as me and my younger brother. I'll try and stay out of your head."

"…thanks."

As she said it, a vision appeared in the back of Clearsight's head; of a future Darkstalker responding to something Clearsight had said- "_Wait, no, I'M the older sibling!"_

She looked to see if Whiteout would comment, but she was staying silent. Apparently true to her word, she wasn't reading Clearsight's mind anymore.

"Ummm… isn't Darkstalker the older sibling?" Clearsight asked.

Whiteout grinned, finishing the last of her steaming drink and smacking her lips. "He is, but I always acted like I was his older sister- you know, learning things about our powers and then teaching them to him. It's why his future seeing's a bit off- I taught him how to subdue it. Future seeing and mind reading at the same time… are a bit too much for a young dragon like him."

"Wait, does that mean that his sight is completely undeveloped?"

"Yeah. I was saving him for you, you see! You can help him better than I can."

Clearsight took a moment to process that information.

"That's… interesting."

"Thank you! Now, lunch is almost over. Halfway through your next class, Darkstalker will slip you a note. Read it afterwards. The rest… is not for me to decide."

Whiteout took her cup, extended her arm backwards, and flung it into the air. The cup sailed across the courtyard, and came to rest in a small kiln where the cutlery and such were to be disposed of.

Clearsight followed its trajectory, mouth agape.

"If you have any more questions, I suggest you ask them right now."

A pause. In fact, Clearsight did have one last question. But she wasn't sure if it would be polite to ask…

A few minutes ticked by awkwardly.

"…Clearsight, if you end up in a relationship with my brother, we will become close as sisters. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them."

Clearsight sighed.

"Ummm… I heard that there was…. something wrong with you?"

Whiteout nodded. "Yes- the way I thought and spoke differed from other dragons my age. My father wished for me to see a doctor, my mother thought I was fine. Go on?"

"…you… don't seem all that wrong now, so were they just making a big deal out of it? or…"

"…"

"…I'm so sorry, if you're uncomfortable-"

"No! No, be at ease. I was just… contemplating how best to answer your question. Yes, I do think differently from other people. I've known this from a young age. My father was quite concerned, and since I seem to be attuned to other people's emotions… I decided to change the way I spoke, so as to not worry them. I based my new language upon how my mother and father talk about things, which is why it's a mixture of incredibly formal and… quite casual."

A pause. Clearsight couldn't deny it- she now saw the dragon sitting in front of her as a completely different person.

"…that sounds incredible!"

Whiteout smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Well, it's also why I consider myself the older sibling. I… had to grow up fast."

A pause.

Then Whiteout suddenly perked up. "But I'm fine now! Speaking of now, somebody's going to trip over a tray in three… two …"

A crash echoed from behind them.

"There we go! And I need to run, because ideally, I'll be comforting them before the next class begins. So, I will take your leave."

She got up to leave, and Clearsight followed.

"I will say this…" Whiteout said, looking Clearsight in the eye. "My brother has an excellent taste in soulmates."

Clearsight laughed, aware of the blush creeping onto her face. "Hey, you aren't too hard on the eyes either."

Whiteout grinned, and then took off, flying across the courtyard and tucking in her wings as she dove into one of the windows.

For a second, Clearsight just stood there.

"…that was interesting…"

And with that, she headed to her next class.

* * *

There had been a few hitches.

A few minor setbacks.

Nothing that big, really.

He'd just accidentally arrived to school approximately two hours early, realised that there was nobody there to let him in, and had had to mill about anxiously for most of the morning.

Then he'd thrown himself into a bush the instant he'd spotted a Nightwing walking down the road to the school, believing in a singular moment of panic that it was Clearsight. It wasn't. It had just been a random guy.

Then, when he'd finally seen Clearsight, he'd steeled himself, began walking towards her… and then turned tail and retreated.

Then he'd drawn several portraits of her instead of paying attention in class (incidentally, Whiteout's description of her had been basically spot on) and headed to the library- believing that all the books would help him concentrate.

They hadn't.

But now… after about an hour of thinking, and planning, and rehearsing… he finally had a semi-passable grandiose gesture to impress her with!

Deep down, he knew this was stupid. But much more superficially- closer to the surface- his ego and crippling anxiety were egging him on. He could almost imagine their voices going _do it! do it! do it!_

…

Sometimes he hated his brain.

Still, it had been done. He'd slipped Clearsight the note delicately in the last class- having spent almost twenty minutes making sure that it was folded just right and that nothing was smudged, there was no way in _hell_ he was being anything less than incredibly careful- and had come here.

A random corner of the library.

Where he was hiding behind a pillar.

Waiting to surprise her.

_You know, it's amazing. I hadn't realised how stupid this was until this _exact _moment._

Suddenly, something creaked. Darkstalker jumped, his heart skipping a beat.

"Hello, Clearsight." said the warm, crinkly voice of the librarian, so similar in texture to the books she was tasked with guarding. "How are you today?"

"Just fine, Miss." Clearsight replied, and he suddenly found himself relaxing. Her voice… it soothed him like his sister's did so often. Except… there was an undertone of mischief, of deep, untamed joy.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he heard her footsteps advancing towards his little display. He'd written clear directions on the note, and _oh things were going perfectly!_

"…Darkstalker?" she asked as she rounded the corner, and then stopped.

_She's seen it. _

He was still trying not to read her mind, but… he couldn't help it. Despite himself, he let down his barriers just a little bit- as though dipping only his fingertips into the crystal pool of her mind.

The emotions therein were primarily those of shock and awe, and a bit of respect mixed with heaps of amusement.

And he could see why.

Spread out in front of her was basically… everything.

Everything he'd ever done, that related to her. All the drawings, all the poems, all the notes…

And leaning against it was his slate, the only other thing he'd brought to school that day. He still remembered the slight giggles that had escaped his mouth as he'd written out the message on it.

She stepped closer, her lithe form coming into the light, and began reading. Her mouth slowly twisted into a smile as her violet eyes took in the words.

"_Good thing we're in the library, 'cuz I'm checking you out tonight."_

She held up a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Indeed." Darkstalker said, revealing himself from behind the pillar, a huge smile on his face.

"Got any more puns?" she asked, turning to face him.

He hesitated.

"Well, I was _thinking _of one that kind-of went like… _Do you believe in love at first sight? Or is love truly blind… _or something like that."

Clearsight smiled. "Give it a second."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What d'you mean?"

"I can see the future, man! You'll get a really good one in three… two…"

_Oh, the pressure is on now. _

And suddenly, just as she counted one, the perfect line appeared in his mind.

"…do you believe in love at first sight, or should I reveal myself again." he said, almost in awe.

"I knew you'd get it!" Clearsight exclaimed, relief suddenly flooding her joints as some of the darker futures undoubtedly disappeared from her mind. Darkstalker could almost see the exact second the weight of those timelines lifted from her shoulders.

"Are the futures brighter now?" he asked, letting himself relax too. Lord, why had he been so anxious? Considering their banter and comfort around one another, it was as if they'd known each other their entire lives!

Clearsight smirked, staring into his eyes.

"Blindingly bright, Darkstalker."

…

"Now, I think if we talk any longer, we'll be late to our next class."

He pouted, disappointed that their conversation had been cut short.

"Can I at least take you out tonight?"

She looked to the ceiling, doing some calculations in her head- no doubt checking the trajectories of the future.

"Deal."


	8. Chapter 6

It had been an hour, and she still didn't think she had processed what had happened between her and Darkstalker.

They had clicked. There was absolutely no doubt about it.

It was…

_It was…_

She sighed, letting herself be carried away by everything that had transpired between them. She had never felt that… sense of utter comfort and familiarity around another person before! It had been… _incredible…_

"Clearsight?"

She slammed her hands on her table as she jerked her head up, abruptly returning from whatever fantasy land she had been stuck in.

The sounds of the class in progress came back to her. She suddenly took in the aroma of chalk that hung in the air, along with whispers between classmates and the droning of the professor. The windows, wide open in this glorious weather, were tempting as usual. The class was proceeding as usual- nobody paid any heed to what she had just done.

Disruptions such as these were common, considering the number of dragons trapped in the room. The professor simply stood at the front of the class, reciting random information that would apparently help them in life. And no, that wasn't a joke. Or exaggeration. Or hyperbole.

"If seagulls end up attacking you." the professor announced in a fastidious manner, head held so high Clearsight could barely see his snout, "Run. The seagulls are not to be contended with. They are dangerous. Now, let's move on to what happens when you turn over a log, and there's a twig underneath it. What you do is, you write down 'this tree had a son' on a piece of parchment…"

"Psst." Listener called, head turned towards Clearsight, her talon obstructing her snout from the front of the class. She had a massive smirk on her face, and a slight twinkle in her eye. Clearsight knew what the look meant; her friend was on the warpath for some hot gossip.

"How was your meeting with him?" she asked.

Clearsight grinned, remembering what it had felt like talking to Darkstalker. The weight of entire _worlds _had lifted off her shoulders the second she'd caught even a glimpse of that incredible smile. Her worries had seemed to disappear into thin air the second he spoke in those deep, yet excitable tones. And that pretty face…

"It was fine." she shrugged, turning back to her work.

A pause.

"…is that all you're going to give me?"

"Yup." she responded, popping the 'p'.

"…are you even going to tell me his name?"

Clearsight paused, tilting her head up and tapping her pen against her chin. She scrunched up her face so it seemed as though she was actually considering it.

"No."

Silence.

"…if you don't tell me, I'll just read your mind!"

"And if you read my mind, you'll find out exactly what your future holds. I'll throw a few prophecies in there for good measure."

Listener hissed, narrowing her eyes, aware that she couldn't do anything about this rather unfortunate turn of events. Either she would end up not know who her friend's soulmate was, or she would end up knowing what her future held- which was something she definitely didn't want.

"You realise this means war." she stated coldly.

"I know." Clearsight answered, getting back to her work.

"…"

"…"

"…please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Answer's still no."

"Awwww, c'mon! Won't you-"

"Listener!"

Suddenly, the entire class sat bolt upright, snapping their faces to the front of the class. There, coated in a fine layer of chalk dust was the professor, who was staring at Listener with a deep, untameable wrath burning in his eyes.

"Is there something you would like to share with the class?" he asked, malice dripping like venom from each word.

The class was silent. All eyes were on Listener.

"Yes!" she responded.

Clearsight facepalmed. _Knowing what's going to come out of her mouth doesn't soften the blow._

"My best friend won't tell me who her soulmate is, the food I ate in the cafeteria was soggy, and I tripped over a tray! Not to mention, this class sucks!"

A pause.

Clearsight sighed. She knew what had to happen.

Slowly, she reached out her hand, and patted the girl on the back.

"There, there."

The effect was immediate. Listener breathed deeply, fanned her face, and took her seat again.

Another pause.

The professor cleared his throat. "Ahem… that's nice, dear. Now, back to our comprehensive guide on how to do the, as you cool kids call it, 'hokey pokey.'"

Slowly, the class returned to their normal routine- a few of them talking, a few others sleeping, a special few contemplating escape…

"He even used air quotations!" Listener grumbled, referring to their professors. "How can one person be so out of touch?"

Clearsight shook her head, loathe to watch him demonstrate his dancing abilities.

"Sing it with me!" he called. "You put your right leg in, you…"

If the visions were anything to go by, this would go on for at least another twenty minutes.

So, it was about time she drowned out everybody around her, and got to mapping out potential futures.

So she closed her eyes…

…and _breathed…_

_The one at the forefront of her mind was interesting- there would be a few bumps in her and Darkstalker's relationship, but in the end, they would end up professing their love for one another. Eventually, they would have dragonets, and grow to a ripe old age._

_The others could be split into two categories- dark ones and light ones. The lightest ones were pretty standard- they would fall in love, end up marrying and have children. No hassle. The darker ones… she tried to stay away from them, but it was important to follow a few through to the end. _

Alright._ She steeled her nerves, exhaling as though preparing to submerge herself in the timelines._

_One involved… Darkstalker betraying the Nightwings to the Icewings, and this decision eventually causing a genocide. However, there were a lot of systematic steps of oppression that would have to lead up to this; Darkstalker would have to be ostracised, for instance, and that probably wasn't happening anytime soon; and she was pretty sure she could avoid it. _

Scratch that._ She thought as one particular scene from that timeline flashed by- one in which, during an argument, Clearsight insulted his hybrid nature._ I can definitely avoid it. I'm never calling him a filthy half-blood regardless.

_She explored a few others, finding that they were far more exciting than the lighter ones- but of course, she wasn't looking for this sort of excitement. She could very much do without loosing her eldest dragonet to the war, and going insane on the frontlines._

No… no… not happening- oh, that's nice…_ she thought as a timeline where Whiteout developed a crush on her, and her jealousy and intervention leading to Darkstalker becoming evil flitted by. _

Guess I just need to make sure she meets… whatshisname? Oh yeah, Thoughtful.

_She watched them pass in front of her, inspecting each long enough that she could recognise the warning signs, and avoid them._

Wait, what's this timeline? Why am I the one who becomes evil? How does- what's happening? WHAT?! WHY AM I DOING THAT-

She retreated from that timeline red-faced, decidedly done with exploring timelines for the day. Rest assured, she wouldn't be trying… _that_… anytime soon.

So, those were the most likely futures. Chances were, the one she had seen most clearly would be the one that actually happened. Sure, there were bound to be abnormalities, but those were rare.

Right?

…

"…do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around…"

Listener groaned and slammed her head- albeit lightly- into the desk. Most of the other students were watching the professor with a mixture of horror and repulsion- as though they wanted to look away, but physically couldn't.

"Let's take this one step further! Add in a little 'shake of the rump', and you're bound to charm _all the ladies!"_

Completely straight-faced, one of the Nightwings seated next to Clearsight turned to her, looked her right in the eyes, and said "Kill me."

She could sympathise.

As she watched her esteemed professor attempt to stand on top of his desk, sending papers flying everywhere as he began dancing again, she wondered what her soulmate was up to…

"Whoop!" the elder Nightwing exclaimed as he slipped, but caught himself.

He chuckled, taking in the faces of his students. "For a second there, I thought I was going to fall-"

The table promptly collapsed under his weight.

* * *

He had had the dignity to wait until Clearsight was out of earshot.

The dignity to wait until her footsteps faded, until she left the library, door creaking closed behind her.

The dignity wait until the silence returned.

Then he had waited an extra half second, just to be sure.

Then he'd inhaled…

"YEEEEEEES!"

He pumped his fists as he jumped three feet into the air, spreading his wings joyously.

"HELL YEAH!"

He dove over one of the bookshelves and leapt onto the librarian's desk, accidentally catching his foot on the cusp of the desk and faceplanting in the wood.

It didn't faze him. He got back up immediately, and smiled- almost blissfully unaware how uncomfortably close to the librarian's face he was. He could almost make out the individual contours of her skin.

"Miss Librarian Lady! Did you see what I did?" he asked excitedly.

She smiled as though she were genuinely proud of him. Warmth comparable to that of the sun radiated from her being as she leaned in close, and whispered "Dearie, this is a library."

He suddenly realised that all eyes were on him. Every single dragon had stopped what they were doing just to see what was happening. A few were looking up from their books, others were glancing around corners, and a few were peeking over bookshelves.

Slowly, he clambered off the desk, and retreated towards the door. Quickly slipping out, he closed it, and exhaled.

…

"WOOOOOOOOOO!"

He ran through the corridors, past the classrooms with their doors closed and the windows that reminded him of the wonderful weather, searching for the one person he knew he could share this pure, unfiltered joy with.

"Whiteout!"

He cast his mind out, and almost immediately found her presence. A cool strip of her consciousness lit up his mind as she spoke.

_Meet me in the courtyard. _

He crashed through the doors, running into the wild air- wind whipping at his face, making his cheeks flush. The long grass on the hillside the school was built on tossed in all directions. Off to his right was the courtyard where they had lunch; a collection of long tables and chairs without backs.

She was sitting in the courtyard, talons tented as she watched him approach. He barrelled into the seat across from her, spinning in place for a few seconds before coming to a rest facing her, breathing hard from the physical exertion.

"I take it that the meeting went well?" she asked, allowing a small smile onto her face.

"IT."

He wiped some sweat from his brow.

"WAS."

He smashed his fists into the table to accentuate his point.

"AWESOME!"

Silence.

"That's wonderful." she responded finally, letting a small grin erupt onto her face. "Any specifics you're willing to share?"

Darkstalker hesitated. Then he continued with the same vigour as before.

"Everything with her felt so… natural! Time flew by _so fast_, and we were just bantering with each other, and I haven't had that much fun in actual years!

"It's like I knew exactly what to say at each time. And she… she found me funny! And it never felt like I was trying too hard, or that she wasn't considering what I had to say, or that she thought of me as less than her…

"She was so beautiful! And smart! And… and she was witty, and a bit bashful, and she has the most incredible purple eyes that you can just… get lost in… and every single thing she said was just… so…"

He rested his head on his arms.

"Now that I've met her, I don't think I'll be able to sleep for weeks." he mumbled softly.

Whiteout closed her eyes, breathing in through her nostrils as she listened to her brother speak. He was so incredibly full of energy today- almost ecstatic. It reminded her of when they were still children, and he would be hyperactive and get in trouble, and Whiteout would have to help him.

He was almost delirious in his happiness.

And like she had in the past, being the loving sister she was, she would make sure nothing was going to happen.

Slowly, she tuned his admittedly endearing rambling out, and glimpsed into the future.

_Colours blended in her mind, staticky tendrils reaching across a backdrop of visions. It began with some nice, airy green. Then some browns, and a bit of ochre. Then suddenly, a barrage of blindingly bright red; followed by a bit of pink… _

_and then…_

_and then… _

_a̤̟̗nd̶̯̜̠̪ ̹̖̹̰t̻̗̮̺̞͙̙͞h̶̼̦̦̳̹͍e͕̥̤͇̩̠̤n̲͕̘͈̜̫͡..̲̹͕̙̞.̢̲͈̭͓͍̯.͏̦̥_

_A̖͖͍̼ͭ̆̐N̬͓̬͐D͚ͦ͗͆ ̣͖̳ͤ̃̎T̗͔̲͓̬̭̥̋̏̍Ȟ̲͙̝͛̅̍ͥͫ͂E̹͈̣͙͚̬̾̋̑N̩͎̦̦̟͆ͥ̂̆-͖̻̘̐̂̆̇ͮ̈͗ͪ͛_

…

"Whiteout?"

She gasped, feeling as though cold water was filling her lungs. Her breaths came short and quick, and a white-hot spike of pain rammed into her brain.

"Whiteout!"

She felt a firm hand grab onto her arm, pumping it with a steady rhythm. She concentrated on the rhythm- the constant compression and decompression, soothing her out of another panic attack. She felt his talons digging into her skin, and her mind exploded with a deep _white-_

"WHITEOUT!"

She retched, eyes suddenly flying open, and her breath coming back to her. Darkstalker was sitting next to her, looking incredibly concerned- as he always did when stuff like this happened.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She breathed deeply, taking in her surroundings- she had to remember them, so she would have something to grasp onto- something that wasn't just fickle in her mind…

"I'm fine." she said finally. "I… I'm sorry, this wasn't in any of the visions I had."

"Don't apologise." he responded, rubbing her back gently. "It's not your fault."

"No, it is." she held up a hand as he began to retort. "I just… tried to glimpse into the future, is all. And for some reason it… didn't quite go as planned."

The worry on her brother's face exponentiated. "Are you _sure _you'll be alright?"

She flashed her most dazzling smile at him. "Absolutely. Now, I don't want to get you down for the rest of the day, and let's be honest, I'm not trying _that _again anytime soon, so run along!"

She waved her hand in a definitive 'shoo' motion.

He raised one eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

Whiteout looked him right in the eyes.

"Yes. And regardless, now that you've met Clearsight, your futures together aren't my business anymore. So, goodbye!"

He still looked a bit worried, but brushed it aside.

"…good luck, I guess." he said as he retreated.

She stuck her thumbs up. "Go get her, champ."

* * *

The instant he left her direct line of vision, she grabbed her bag, and headed to the library. She would have to do some research about… _whatever _that had been.

Of course, just because their futures together weren't her business anymore didn't mean she would stop looking into them. He was her brother, and Clearsight was… interesting.

As she opened the doors to the library, she decided on her course of action. She would be an outside observer, for the time being. If there was anything seriously wrong, she would tell Darkstalker. For now, though, she would just wait. And learn.

"Hello, dear." the librarian said. "Say, did you know why your twin was acting like that?"

She sighed.

"Well, you see…"


	9. Chapter 7

Clearsight was a bit nervous.

_No…_

She was _very _nervous.

Because she was currently standing in unfamiliar territory- on a rather roomy ledge on the side of a mountain. Embedded into the rock face in front of her was a small red door, worn down by the elements. The knob and knocker were both bronze, and felt cool to the touch.

This was the entrance to Darkstalker's house.

This was where she was supposed to meet him.

She had taken a small detour to tell her parents where she was going- after all, it wouldn't do to have them wondering where she was all night. They trusted her enough to let her do things like this- as long as she didn't make a habit of it.

She'd arrived relatively early, but it was already getting dark. The sky was turning a rather flattering shade of maroon, and dark purple was beginning to seep through the horizon- as though the point where the land met the sky had a leaky seal.

Through one of the windows in the rock face, she could see a pith torch burning- but not much more. Though the house exuded a cosy warmth that she couldn't wait to bask in, it also seemed mysterious and dark to her.

So she took a deep breath, locked her hands together, and used her sight.

At this point there were several directions the future could go- but all of them were fairly similar. The timelines would split the instant somebody opened the door- and the future would be altered depending on which person did it, though not by much.

Chances were, Darkstalker was going to be the one to greet her. However, it was almost equally likely that Foeslayer would open the door. And if the two of them failed, there was still Whiteout.

Sighing, she resolved not to worry about it.

Raising the knocker, she let it fall.

The dull _thunk _rang in her ears as she stared at the chipped paint, wishing she could see through the wood.

…

A noise, some footsteps, claws fumbling with the knob and-

Clearsight came face to face with Arctic.

He wasn't dead on his feet, but it seemed as though he was about halfway there. The effect of his steely glare was significantly diminished by the massive dark circles under his eyes, and his shock at seeing her at the front door made him even less intimidating.

For a second he recoiled, eyes widening slightly. Then he realised it was just a young Nightwing, and relaxed slightly.

"Darkstalker, your friend's here!" he called.

Silence, followed by a loud thud from the bowels of the house.

They looked each other over for another second.

"…nice house you got here, Mister Arctic."

"Why thank you-"

"Clearsight!"

Darkstalker came bounding into view, a massive smile on his face. Arctic sighed in relief as he turned away from her and walked back inside.

"You came!" Darkstalker exclaimed, eyes wide and excited.

"Of course I did." She grinned. "What, did you expect me not to?"

"You can never be sure. Come on in!"

He took her hand- _his fingers twined with hers, the sudden warmth sending a jolt of bright light into her chest and head-_ and almost dragged her down the narrow corridor. As they went, Clearsight noticed the paintings lining the wall; mostly abstract, some done with splendour in oils, depicting grand battles or sweeping landscapes; some done in watercolours, simple sketches of rainy days or an underwater palace.

"Whiteout did all of those, you know." Darkstalker called over his shoulder as they passed the living room. Foeslayer, who was pouring over a map within, did a double take- but Darkstalker dragged Clearsight on before she could see more of his mother's reaction.

"Really?" she asked, already marvelling at the beautiful images, and Darkstalker nodded solemnly. It made sense- taking into consideration Whiteout's mind reading powers and her future sight, chances were she'd seen more than any other member of the family- despite her technically being the youngest.

Ahead of her, Darkstalker threw open a door and pulled her inside. It was almost pitch black- save the afterglow of the day pouring in through the open window; drapes fluttering softly in the gentle breeze.

As her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she took in her surroundings- two granite walls and a low ceiling, a rumpled bed and writing desk piled high with paper- though apparently an effort to hide the mess _had _been made. The wall had a few papers stuck to it with tacks and resin, and the wall to her left was apparently made of leaves.

Darkstalker lit a pith lamp, and set it next to his window. As the smoke and fumes lazily drifted into the open air, throwing their shadows against the room, he turned back to her.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…now what?"

Clearsight hesitated.

_Why is it so awkward now?_

"Ummm… maybe you could give me a tour of your room?"

Darkstalker fumbled with his hands. "Sure! Well…"

He sauntered over to the desk. "This is where I do my writing."

He walked over to his bed. "This is where I do my sleeping."

And finally, he gestured to the rest of the room. "This is where I do everything else."

There was a pause, during which a small smile crept onto Clearsight's face.

"…keep your secrets then. Hey, what's this?"

She grabbed the edge of the leaf wall- which she had realised was a curtain- and yanked it aside, revealing-

Another room that was almost a mirror image of Darkstalker's- except for two important details. One, the writing desk had an easel next to it, and was drenched in paint. Two, Whiteout was sitting on the bed, staring unblinkingly at the leaf curtain.

They made eye contact for a few seconds. Then Clearsight let the curtain fall.

"…"

"…is this getting awkward?" Darkstalker asked.

"Yes." Both Clearsight and Whiteout said simultaneously, the younger dragon's voice a bit muffled on account of the curtain.

Darkstalker grimaced, looked around the room for a second, and then focused on the window.

"Hey, what was the last time you saw the transition from dusk to twilight?"

Clearsight began to say that she saw the sun setting every night, but then stopped.

_Dusk to twilight…_

"…not often, I think."

He grinned, already clambering out of the window. "Follow me!"

Careful not to upset the lantern, she followed.

"Have fun!" Whiteout called from below.

* * *

Coming up to the roof had been a good idea.

Maybe it was something about their new surroundings that made everything so much more carefree- the mountain to their back, and the gorgeous vista of the entire night kingdom spread out in front of them. They could see all the way to the edges of the kingdom from here.

And instead of a ceiling of granite, they had a ceiling of stars.

They had begun appearing slowly, one at a time. And soon, the sky had been blanketed with them. As they lay there, staring up at the sky, Clearsight swore she could see the canopy turning on an off-centre axis.

It was beautiful.

Darkstalker had regaled her with stories about him and his family. They appeared to be a tight-knit bunch, though she knew from her sight that Arctic and Foeslayer fought sometimes. He had told her a few things about himself, too- for instance, how he loved to sketch and write poems, how close him and his sister were…

She could feel Darkstalker inching closer to her as he spoke, trying to see how close he could get. It was obvious he was touch-starved, and she couldn't blame him for wanting to be near her.

It was a bit endearing, to be honest.

"Did you know the story behind these constellations?" she asked just as he was about to put his arm around her. Quickly, he retreated.

"Ummm… no."

"The ancients believed that our ancestors, or even loved ones that have recently passed away… made their homes in the stars."

He smiled. "That's nice."

"They say that if you unfocus your eyes just enough, you can see messages from them written in the stars."

He squinted, glaring up at the deep blue. "How much do you have to unfocus them?"

She grinned. "It's just a legend."

"That could very well be true. Hey, I think I see a starfish!"

He sided up to her, pressing his cheek against hers -_his cool scales made her think of a clear, icy pool under a waterfall and his smile, good lord it was heavenly_\- and pointed at a cluster of stars that looked as though some celestial being had scattered marbles of various hues across the floor and had attempted to make a floral pattern with them, but had given up halfway.

"That's actually the Watcher." She said, aware of her heart beating slightly faster. "It's said that it watches over the night sky, ensuring nobody steals the stars away. It also signifies the approach of summer."

A pause, as Darkstalker processed the information. He still looked bewildered, though.

"…is the Watcher supposed to be a starfish?"

"Nope. It's supposed to be an elderly dragon with glasses hunched over a desk piled high with papers."

He grimaced. "I don't see it."

She laughed, and the sound broke the still, cool air. "Not many do on their first try. I know I sure didn't."

He turned towards her, grinning widely, and the barriers between them came crashing down.

It was just like before. All the awkwardness she had felt… just disappeared. Poof.

It was wonderful.

"… do you even know how to spot the constellations?" she asked, feeling heat flush her cheeks.

"Nope. Unfortunately."

At least he was being honest.

Suddenly, she felt him slip his hand into hers.

"Could you teach me?"

His eyes sparkled so brightly in the low light that she could almost believe that there were galaxies- nay, universes- hidden within. The soft gold in those orbs simply accentuated the flashes of colour and wonder that made him look so… beautiful.

So she put her arm around him, extended the other to the sky- pointer talon outstretched- and began teaching him how to read the stars.


	10. Chapter 8

Today was different.

Today, the first thing he noticed as he awoke, rising gradually from the subterranean cavern of his dreams… was the faint scent that hung in the crisp air.

It was… earthy, but watery, but…

He didn't know how to describe it properly- or even what it was called. He just knew that it was the smell of the earth before it began raining, or directly after it rained. Or it was just the smell of the rain.

He wasn't sure.

But he liked it. A lot.

The second thing he noticed as he awoke was his pillow. It was kind of hard not to notice, to be honest- instead of how he usually slept, with his head _on_ the pillow, this time his head rested against the mattress- and the pillow was trapped between his arms.

It took him a while to realise that he was hugging it.

_But why?_

A grin spread across his face, and he snuggled closer to it.

_Clearsight._

They had almost fallen asleep on that roof. He didn't mean to sound creepy, but she was so _warm, _and she smelled so _good, _and he loved the feeling of her pulse throbbing against him-

_Verging into serial killer territory there, buddy._

Point was, he had almost drifted off to sleep until Clearsight had mentioned that she'd have to leave.

"No." he'd protested, pulling her closer. "Comfy."

Now that he was closer to consciousness than he had been last night, his cheeks were burning. Had he really said it like that? Like he was a little dragonet?

Yeah, he probably had.

She had just laughed, and told him she couldn't stay. But she'd also told him a little trick she used every night…

"_Just grab your pillow as tight as possible and pretend it's me!" she'd giggled, running her talon lightly along his arm- so softly and delicately that it tickled._

He'd taken her advice. And now, he held the pillow even tighter.

He didn't know what it had been about last night- but it had been utterly magical. He'd loved every single thing about it- and honestly, it felt… almost unreal.

_The last traces of some otherworldly magic fading away…_

His eyes snapped open as he was suddenly fully awake.

_Oh that's good. _He thought as he scrambled out of bed, making for the writing desk. _I need to get that down._

He slammed his hand onto the writing desk, scrabbling for a pen while simultaneously trying to dislodge the bedsheet from his leg. Quickly, he scribbled the words in his almost unintelligible scrawl, grabbed a bit of resin and stuck it to the wall.

Then he stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Perfect." He said aloud.

"So what did you do up there with your friend last night?" asked Whiteout from behind him.

Darkstalker screeched, jumping almost a foot in the air as he turned to face his sister.

"LORD!" he screamed, panting. "Don't sneak up on me!"

Today, her eyes were unusually sharp- not unlike a hawk's. If he were pressed for a poetic depiction, he supposed he would describe them as being uncut sapphire gems. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was leaning against the wall directly behind his bed.

"What did the two of you do, Darkstalker." She asked again, unrelenting.

He hesitated.

"How long have you been standing there just to get the jump on me?"

"Answer the question, you-"

"Fine! We talked about our day, I told her a bit about all of you, she taught me how to see the constellations, I cuddled with her, we… kissedandthenshewenthome."

He tried to hide it by saying those last few words in a rush, but even he couldn't deny the way his joints went just a _little _bit weak as he mentioned that she had kissed him. In truth, it had just been a kiss on the cheek. But that had been enough to put him out of commission for the rest of the night.

Rest assured, he'd retired with a massive smile on his face.

"_Just _kissed?" she asked accusingly, raising a single eyebrow.

"…YES! It was our first date! What did you expect us to be doing?"

She blinked.

"Sorry, the future visions are throwing me off a bit. There was a nonzero possibility that you two… decided to get frisky last night."

"Eungh." He scowled.

"You think it's disgusting hearing about it? Imagine being your sister who _fucking saw it."_

"TOO MUCH!"

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes and putting her fingers in the air as though she were mentally solving an abacus. "Alright. That future's gone. For sure. So, what does the future hold…"

Her eyes flew open. "Oh-"

A loud crash echoed from the dining room, followed by a scream.

"Don't panic!" were the first words out of Whiteout's mouth, but Darkstalker was already halfway out the door. He painfully bashed his shoulder against one of the paintings in the hallway as he ran, thoughts clouding his mind so thoroughly that he couldn't even read his parents' thoughts and figure out what was going on.

Now, of course, there was no reasonable reason to be scared. Maybe Arctic or Foeslayer had accidentally dropped a utensil- right?

But that hadn't been a scream of pain he'd heard.

It had been one of rage.

He burst into the dining room to find Arctic glaring at the remains of what looked like a porcelain slab on the ground. Foeslayer stood behind him, breathing heavily.

"…guys?" he asked just as Whiteout walked in.

"Darkstalker." She whispered. "Maybe we should go…"

In that instant, all the energy left Arctic. All the tenseness, the rage, the pure _horror- _it was just gone. And it was replaced by exhaustion; deep, weary lines running across his forehead and face. He collapsed into one of the chairs, and put his head in his hands as he sighed.

Whiteout grabbed Darkstalker's hand. "Let's go-"

"No."

Arctic leaned back, grimacing as he did so. Foeslayer put her hand on his shoulder and just a bit of the weariness in his expression disappeared.

"Sit down. We need to talk."

He first looked long and hard at Whiteout, and turned to Darkstalker with such _pain in his eyes-_

"What happened?" Darkstalker asked.

Arctic stayed silent for a long moment. Foeslayer quietly pulled up a chair next to him, and leaned against him. Her left hand went almost instinctively to her earring- a nervous tic of hers that Whiteout had pointed out to him a few years ago.

There was comfort in their posture- but also fear.

"That slate…" Arctic gestured to the remains, scattered all over the room as they were, "…was from your grandmother. The queen of the Ice Kingdom. She claims that I can come back there, and be reinstated as prince…"

He inhaled- a long, shuddering breath. And Darkstalker gasped silently, for he was regaining control of his emotions- and he could see what his father was going to say before he said it.

"…as long as I bring your heads as proof that you two are dead."

Whiteout didn't react much- but of course, that made sense; she had known this was going to happen long before Arctic mentioned it. Foeslayer rested her head against his shoulder, taking one of his hands in hers. Suddenly, Darkstalker was reminded of last night and Clearsight, and how they had lay under the stars in the same way…

"Of course, I'm not going to do that. Despite the fact that I may not always show it… you two are my life. My family. Honestly, without the three of you… there's no reason for me to go on. I love each one of you."

He stared down at the shards in disgust. "And frankly, I am horrified. I knew my mother was cruel… but I have never known her to be this despicable."

He sighed deeply. Foeslayer remained silent- after all, this was mostly his story to tell.

"…for the first few years after you two were born, we lived in fear. I know you probably don't recognise it, but the two of you are _exceptionally _powerful- the most powerful dragons in generations. Add to that the fact that you have animus blood…"

He covered his eyes with his talons spread out, shaking his head. Foeslayer ran her hand along his arm, and turned to them.

"We were… honesty terrified that somebody would try and kidnap you, or try and kill you. Once it became obvious that the two of you- especially you, Whiteout- could protect yourself, that worry faded slightly." She said.

Her eyes narrowed, as once more she glared at the floor. "And now it's back. And it's a threat from the queen of the Icewings, no less."

There was silence.

Then Darkstalker spoke.

"…I'll clean up this mess-"

"No." Arctic protested weakly, staggering to his feet. "I made it- let me clean it up."

"No, you two get ready and I'll-"

Soon, all of them were arguing with each other about who would clean up the mess. Then-

"Look." Whiteout butted in. "Why don't we all clean it up together? Then today, if it really is that unsafe, either mom can drop us off to school- or we can stay at home."

For a second, Arctic paused. Then he broke into a small smile, as though the sun had broken out from behind the clouds.

"…I'm so proud of both of you right now."

Then he straightened. "But no- it would be unfair to restrict the two of you because of this threat. Foeslayer will drop you off- as long as you're fine with that, right dear?"

Foeslayer nodded, and he continued.

"And I'll schedule a meeting with the Queen today. I'm sure I can get her to increase the security at the borders once she reads the threat-"

He paused, as he suddenly realised that the threat lay in pieces all over their dining room floor.

"…shit."

There was an awkward silence.

"…could we glue it back together?" Darkstalker asked.

"It's too far gone for that." Arctic said remorsefully. "Pretty stupid of me to let my anger overtake me like that- I'm sorry. And the Queen won't even accept anything but hard proof…"

He stared at the floor, and then took a deep breath.

Suddenly, the floor was clean. Nestled in his hands was the slate- pristine white porcelain, with neat lettering and a royal seal. Though it was safe from being dropped, Arctic was holding it like it was a slimy, rotting fruit peel.

"…did you just use your animus magic?" Foeslayer asked, slightly shocked.

"For the first time in eighteen years." Arctic said. "But it's for a good reason- I need to keep all of you safe."

He walked into the hallway, making for the door. Then he hesitated, and stuck his head back in.

"I love you all." He said, and Darkstalker could tell without reading his father's mind that he meant it.

Then the footsteps retreated down the hall, the door creaked open, and finally banged shut.

He was gone.

* * *

There was a storm coming.

She could see the clouds advancing towards the shore, as though they were an army leading an attack against the kingdom. And as an army, they were incredibly intimidating; giants marching towards them, a mass of deep grey tower blocks heavy with rain.

She was certain that if she tried to fly into one of those clouds, she would never find her way out.

Though granted, if she tried it, she would probably drown before she got far.

_Drowning in midair. _She thought. _What an oxymoron._

A book she'd read a while back detailing clouds and their various types (her favourite type were morning glories, despite never having seen any) would probably classify these as cumulonimbus clouds; towering thousands of feet in the air, and capable of producing heavy rain, lightning, severe winds, and hail.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, a massive crack of lightning appeared on the distant horizon. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

The classroom she was sitting in had a rather nice view of the beach and the sea- though nobody frequented either. They were far enough north that occasionally, icebergs would appear in the usually calm, albeit freezing waters.

The waves washing up today, however, were anything but calm. They were restless and angry, and beat against the land as though seeking revenge. And despite the fact that the sun was still shining, it was muted. In just a few hours- or hell, minutes, if the front arrived fast enough… everything would become grey.

A storm was coming.

And it would probably be massive.

She loved it.

"_Psst! Clearsight!" _Listener hissed. _"Are you getting this down?"_

Clearsight looked down at the scroll in front of her, which she had completely forgotten about in her distraction. A few drops of ink had dripped onto the paper from where her pen, newly wet in the inkpot, hovered above the scroll, poised to take notes.

The scroll simply said "_I am pretending to take notes." _over and over again.

"…no." Clearsight responded, and decided to focus on what the professor was saying.

The professor tapped the board with her long, wooden pointer, causing some chalk dust to fly into the air. The board itself had, scrawled across it in impeccable penmanship, "The Butterfly Effect." The 'b' in butterfly had been replaced by a crude side profile of a butterfly, antlers and all. The critter had a massive grin more akin to a Glasgow smile than anything a normal person would have on their face.

"The butterfly effect," the professor continued, "is the idea that something tiny can cause sequential changes, and will eventually grow into something far greater. Popular examples include a snowball rolling down a slope, accumulating more and more snow until it becomes massive, or sequentially taller dominoes knocking one another over."

She glared at the rolling clouds disdainfully.

"I had planned a demonstration of the latter… but it is far too windy. Suffice to say, the idea has been around for a long time. Popular hyperbole is the idea that the flapping of a butterfly's wings on one continent can cause a storm on another."

She laughed slightly, eyes widening so she looked a bit deranged. "And let's just say that if that's true, I will rip that god_damn_ butterfly end to end and _fucking eat it-"_

Suddenly, she seemed to remember that she was teaching a class of very impressionable young dragons. Glancing at the faces around her, she saw a mixture of horror and revulsion. One of the students who had had their hand raised, presumably to ask a question, slowly lowered it.

There was pin-drop silence.

"…does anybody else have questions?"

Listener's hand shot up.

"Okay, looks like there's no questions. Let's-"

"Exc_-uuuuuuuuu_se me, miss professor lady!" Listener sang, trilling the '-use' for an unnaturally long amount of time. In another life, she could probably have been an accomplished opera singer.

The professor sighed, and dragged her hand over her snout.

"Oy vey." She muttered under her breath. "Yes, my dear."

"What use is the butterfly effect in _real _life?"

The professor groaned inwardly. Of course, there was a student like this in her class- just her luck. The type that questioned every single thing that was taught to her, and wanted to be told exactly how it would apply to their lives.

What she wouldn't give to walk up to that girl, tell her that not _everything _needed to have an obvious application in real life, and then shove the pointer up _her a-_

…

_Deeep breath…_

_Don't let it get to you…_

_Remember; you can't go back to prison._

"Well…" she began through gritted teeth, "the most obvious would be that the butterfly effect can propagate through time. Maybe a tiny thing you do can completely change the outcome of your life in the future! Maybe a tiny thing that happened to… I don't know, your mother when she was a kid completely changed who you are as a person, and who you'll eventually grow up to be."

She slumped against the board, smudging it so now it read "the buttey effect".

"Or something like that. I'm not an expert. I'm… not much of anything."

Listener gaped at the professor, and then slowly looked down at her hands. Her eyes were wide and panicky, and she seemed to be second guessing everything she had ever known.

"…truly?" she asked in a small voice.

"I've been very clear." The professor responded, inspecting her yellowing talons. "What makes you think I'm propagating falsehoods?"

"… I think I need a moment." Listener said, and got up. Navigating past all the other dragons, as well as the bewildered professor, she left the room.

"Well damn." The professor said airily. "Another one bites the dust."

"I'll go comfort her." Clearsight added, following Listener out.

_Great._

_My best friend is now having an existential crisis._

She left the room, took two steps to the left, and walked right into Darkstalker.

"Hey." He grinned in a futile attempt to appear slick. "What's up?"

She stared at him for a second.

"…aren't you supposed to be in another class?"

"Yes, but…"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of needed to talk to you. And _sooooooooo_…"

Clearsight could tell he was about to say something bad. No normal conversation would have a pause that long in it.

"…so?" she prompted him to continue.

He sighed, and stepped aside to reveal a gleefully grinning Listener, hands held her near her face in her excitement. Her eyes almost twinkled with joy.

"I faked an existential crisis so you could talk to your boyfriend!" she cheered, and then threw her arms around Dakrstalker.

"He's so _cute!"_ she squealed as she pinched his cheeks, and Darkstalker's grin became more forced.

"I need to talk to you." He began, trying to ignore the hyperactive Nightwing. "Far away from here-"

"Yes." Clearsight responded before he'd even finished the sentence. Anything to escape the classroom.

He grinned as he pushed Listener away from him, still maintaining eye contact with his future love.

"Shall we?" he asked.

* * *

The dismal, almost endless beach stretched out before them. To their right was a cliff topped with long grass- though calling it a 'cliff' was a bit disingenuous. In truth, it starts out as a small overhang at one end of the beach, and eventually develops into a ridge hovering at least a hundred feet above the ochre sand. When the tide is high, the entire beach is covered in at least five feet of water.

And it was along this stretch of land that Clearsight and Darkstalker had decided to walk.

He was strolling along next to her, slowly kicking at the damp ground- making a point not to look her in the eyes. Something seemed off about him- like he was embarrassed, or nervous, or both.

"…is something bothering you?" she asked.

He sighed.

"My grandmother offered my father his princedom back, as long as he killed me and my sister. And brought proof."

Clearsight gasped, coming to a stop. "Holy shit! Did your father…"

"No! Of course not! He just… he's just scared."

He sighed, turning to face the tumultuous sea, and the storm clouds that had now blocked out the sun.

"We all are."

Clearsight couldn't help it. She threw her arms around him, pressing her head against his shoulders. She hadn't noticed it until now, but they were basically the same height- in fact, she might've been just a little bit taller than him.

"We'll be fine." She whispered, squeezing him tight. "Soulmates, remember?"

He couldn't help but smile as she said it, and the sight of it filled her with warmth. Even more than that, she loved that _she _had been able to elicit that response from him.

"Anyways, my dad is probably off petitioning the Queen to increase border security."

"Oh! Is he on good terms with her?"

Darkstalker paused, considering the question.

"…now that I think about it, no. He's always getting the really exhausting patrol jobs, always going on week-long missions… I think he'll have to ask my mom for help."

"That's true. Especially since Foeslayer is a full Nightwing- no offence, of course."

"None taken."

She glared up at the clouds, which were now almost directly over her head.

"Damn, even the backdrop for this conversation is dreary. Don't you wish we had a bit of sun?"

"Hey, I don't need the sun!"

He leaned in conspiratorially, unable to hide his smile as he spoke huskily into her ear.

"_You're bright enough to light up mah whole world, baby."_

Clearsight burst into laughter, covering her mouth to stop the giggles from escaping.

"You- you-" she stuttered.

And then she stopped.

_Good lord. _

_I'm in love, aren't I._

She had expected that over time, she would come to love Darkstalker. But honestly, she hadn't expected it to take her two days.

It was just… something about his delectably delightful character, the way he talked, the way he acted…

He was adorably amazing.

…maybe it was just young love.

She didn't know.

"Anything wrong?" he asked, nonchalantly taking her hand in his.

Well, _nonchalantly _was a strong word. In truth, he fumbled with it for a full second, and then clasped it- and by extension, her- to his side.

"Ehhh, nothing." She shrugged, taking her other hand and delicately booping him on the nose. "Just cheering you up."

It worked- his laugh was only accentuated by the pure joy she could feel radiating off him in waves.

_I love him._

_Good lord, I love him!_

The smell of rich, loamy earth filled her lungs.

_Petrichor. _She thought, closing her eyes as she inhaled.

Beside her, Darkstalker gasped. "Hey, by the way, I've been meaning to ask you something- what's that smell?"

She turned to him, raising one eyebrow. "You mean the petrichor?"

"Is that what that is?"

"Yeah! It's the smell of the ground becoming moist."

"Oh."

They walked on in silence for a while, Darkstalker continuing to kick at small pebbles, or coagulated clumps of sand. In the distance, the tide pools were vacated by their inhabitants- clearly anticipating the storm.

"…couldn't you have plucked that tidbit from my thoughts?" Clearsight asked. "I mean, you _can _read minds."

Darkstalker grinned, turning to her with a wonderful shimmer in his eyes. "Well, I could… but I like it better when you explain it to me."

His voice ebbed with sincerity, and… she couldn't help but smile, and lean into his side.

"I hate to admit it… but Listener was right. You're the cutest thing on the planet."

"That's only because you're an angel from another world."

"…that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

…

…_damn, I really feel like kissing him._

"You know, considering the fact that both you and your sister are the most powerful dragons on the continent… you sure don't show it."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Hey, was that a drop of water?"

They paused. Suddenly, the sounds of the crashing waves seemed muted. The world around them swam in and out of focus. And above them, just as Clearsight tilted her head upwards to face the underside of the clouds…

…it began to pour.

Hard.

Darkstalker gasped as the freezing water sloshed over his shoulders, and Clearsight swore under her breath. They were far from any sort of shelter out here.

He grabbed her hand suddenly, pointing towards a dark outline in the cliff far away.

"Is that a cave?" he yelled over the howling winds.

_It is!_

"Run!" she screamed, and pulled him into a mad sprint. The winds, as well as the rain, were really picking up now. Lightning suddenly flashed, and less than a second later, the thunderous roar hit them heads on.

"Gods!" Darkstalker yelled, trying to run faster. It was hard, though- the sand was now the consistency of paste, and kept slowing them down. "It feels like the end of the world!"

"Don't say that!" she complained. "You're making it sound like we're going to die!''

At that exact moment, the violent winds picked up so much that they felt like they would be blown away at any moment. Clearsight dug her talons into the sand, and Darkstalker did the same. As the gust died down, they extracted themselves, and began running even faster.

"Damnit!" Clearsight screamed as her muscles began burning. "I'm not made for running!"

"You think I am?" Darkstalker forced between pants. "I'm a poet, not an athlete!"

They continued this back and forth until they reached the cave, panting and shivering. It was comforting, to be perfectly honest- though neither of them could quantify why.

As they ran out of the rain and onto the slick rocks of the slightly-flooded cave, their teeth began chattering.

"Damn." Darkstalker complained, rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to warm up. "It's really storming out there, isn't it?"

As he said it, another massive crack of forked lightning hit the sea, followed by a boom that shook the walls around them. He yelped in fear, jumping about a foot in the air.

Casually, Clearsight put her arm around him.

"Hey, we'll just wait it out in here." She grinned. "No harm, no foul."

And that's when the groaning started.

It echoed through the cave, sounding suspiciously like an eldritch monster. Odd shadows bounced off the walls, making it seem far more like a crypt than it had any right to.

Slowly, Clearsight turned to Darkstalker.

"_What was that?" _she whispered.

"I don't know!" he responded, and then suddenly paused- no doubt trying to read the thing's mind.

"Wait, I think it's a dragon!"

_Shit._

"Hold on!" Clearsight screamed into the cave, already picking her way over the rocks littering the floor. Darkstalker followed, trying to read its thoughts.

"It's all disjointed and full of pain," he mentioned, and Clearsight tried to climb even faster. "I'm seeing… a weird ceremony… for animuses? Oh, that's how it works. And an old dragon… death? _Oh _lord, it's a massacre. They're being massacred-"

Suddenly, they paused. For among the rocks in front of them lay the battered and broken body of a young Seawing. His surroundings were tinted a light red, and even from here, they could see several wounds.

"Hello?" Clearsight asked, rushing over to him and feeling his pulse. "Could you tell us your name?"

He coughed weakly, turning to face them.

"My name is Current."

"…"

"…I'm sorry, who?"

He groaned, slapping his forehead.

"I'm Current. Prince of the Seawings. Now, take me to your leader."

* * *

"…fine. Do it."

Arctic breathed a massive sigh of relief, letting a small smile escape onto his face as Foeslayer walked away from Queen Vigilance and towards him.

After what had felt like hours of arguing and debating, the Queen of the Nightwings had decided to treat Whiteout and Darkstalker as full Nightwings, and was going to respond to any threat from the Icewings as a threat against the kingdom.

Even as Foeslayer waltzed towards him, beaming from ear to ear, Vigilance was gearing up to dictate a letter to Queen Diamond- a strongly worded letter that would hopefully deter any further threats.

"You did it!" he whispered, sweeping her up in his arms.

She laughed softly, holding him tight. "No, _we _did it."

_Finally._

_My children are safe._

And suddenly, there was a banging at the huge doors to the chamber.

Silence.

"Enter." Vigilance called.

The doors flew open, and in staggered-

"What?" Arctic and Foeslayer asked at the same time.

-Darkstalker and (what was her name? Oh yeah.) Clearsight, carrying a badly wounded Seawing.

"Lords!" one of the aristocrats called out, and was immediately shushed by his peers.

"_What…" _Vigilance began, "…is the meaning of this?"

Nobody spoke.

Darkstalker gulped. "We found him washed up in a cave near the sea. He needs medical attention, but also claims to have important information. Oh, and he says he's Current, prince of the Seawings."

That caused a real stir. The Seawing turned to Darkstalker, glaring at him.

"That's because I _am _Current, prince of the Seawings." He growled. "You lowlife."

Clearsight casually dropped him, and he yowled in pain.

"Oops." She deadpanned.

"Why, I oughta-"

"I ask once more!" Vigilance boomed. "What is the meaning of this."

In that moment, Current seemed to realise his situation. He bowed slightly, giblets touching the ground as he did so.

"My liege. Albatross, the senior Seawing animus, went insane and slaughtered most of the Seawing royal family. I am uncertain how many have survived, but all I can say is this- it has been proven that animus power corrupts the mind and soul. Now, I would like some medical attention. I'd hate to bleed out all over your pristine marble flooring."

He then proceeded to faint.

"Most unorthodox." The aristocrat grumbled, only to be hit square in the snout by a boot. Current was hoisted onto a stretcher by some guards, and taken away. Quickly realising that they were no longer necessary, Clearsight and Darkstalker retreated.

But none of this mattered to Arctic.

He slowly set Foeslayer down, and processed this new information.

_Animus power… corrupts._

He hadn't considered it before, but it made sense. Foeslayer met his gaze, and he could tell that she was thinking the same thing.

After they had escaped from the Ice Kingdom and he had used his animus powers three times in as many weeks… he had begun to act irritably, and had lashed out at some of their travelling companions. In many ways… talking to Foeslayer about her mother, and seeing that butterfly… had brought him back from the edge.

"Arctic…" she began. "...do you think…"

She couldn't even complete the sentence.

He gripped her arm tightly, both for her sake and his- anchoring himself to her, and no doubt her to him.

They needed each other right now.

"Let's go home."

* * *

Clearsight burst into her house, Darkstalker following close behind. Quietly, she shut the door, shook herself to dislodge most of the standing water from her scales, and then beckoned for him to follow her.

Her house wasn't all that far from Darkstalker's- but it seemed almost a world apart by comparison. Instead of paintings lining the walls, there were bookshelves. Instead of black, granite walls, their surroundings were drenched in tasteful ebony. The house radiated class.

And so, stepping into Clearsight's room felt like stepping from earth into an alternate dimension, and then returning in the middle of a riot. It wasn't _quite _the right analogy, but Darkstalker wasn't really thinking straight right now.

The point is, the chaos of the room was comforting.

And he needed comfort right now.

"Ohhhhhh, _shit, _my dad saw us." He panicked, pacing along the tiny bit of exposed floor in the entire room- a narrow strip from the door to her window. Every single other square inch of the room was covered in notebooks, loose sheaves of paper, and markers piled almost waist high. The window itself was covered in markings and notes, and a damp rag that hung next to it presumably acted as an eraser.

As could be evidenced by the fact that Clearsight was currently wiping away at the window with it, mumbling under her breath

"Okay, let's look into the future." She glanced back at him. "You _do _know how to do that, right?"

"…not really?"

Her jaw dropped, and he backpedalled furiously. "No, I know how to look into the future! It's just that I… kind of blocked it all out? So like, if something particularly strong is going to happen in the future, I can see it. But… that's it?"

Clearsight's glare softened, and she finished wiping down the window.

"Alright. So, far as I can tell, this is the chain of events-"

As she said it, she began drawing another chart- a flow diagram, detailing a series of events.

"As long as nothing goes wrong- for instance, you losing your temper over anything your father says," she continued, scribbling at supersonic speeds, "you should be fine. Just answer his questions honestly, is all."

Darkstalker sighed, falling backwards from where he sat in such a way that his head now rested on the pillow on her bed- this being despite the fact that he lay exactly perpendicular to the mattress. His torso rested entirely on the piles of papers and notebooks.

"It isn't about that!" he sighed. "I just hate worrying him, you know?"

He closed his eyes, putting his hands behind his head. "He's got enough on his plate already."

There was silence in the room, apart from the soft patter of rain on the outside of the window.

Suddenly, he felt her climb onto the bed, and went very still. Deliberately, she put her head on the pillow next to him, lying along the length of the mattress so now she was perpendicular to him too.

"…you two just need to hash it out." She said. "I can't really relate to the problems you two have. But… I'm sure he loves you! You just… need to understand each other."

He grinned, and pushed himself closer to her.

…

…

…

"Hey, I wonder if I'm an animus."

Clearsight's eyes snapped open.

"What?"

Darkstalker sat up straight. "Yeah. My dad has animus blood, but he never really tested me to see if I was an animus. And today, while I was reading Current's thoughts, I saw how the Seawings tested for animus powers."

She faced him. "I hope you're joking. A thrice-moonborn animus? Good lord. Not to mention how animus power apparently corrupts."

He smiled sheepishly. "Hey, doesn't hurt to try."

He grabbed a sheaf of paper, glancing at the topmost page before pulling it off, discarding the rest.

"Hey, paper!" he said in a mockingly-regal voice. "I command you to fold yourself into a paper swan and boop Clearsight on the nose. Gently, please."

Obediently, the paper flew out of his hands, hovered in midair as it transformed, and lightly tapped the tip of Clearsight's snout. Then it fell, it's job done.

Darkstalker gasped as Clearsight gaped at the origami.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…holy fuc-"

The door creaked open, and the duo tore their eyes from the swan to face Clearsight's father- a kindly man with a warm smile- as he leaned into the room.

"Hey kids!" he sang. "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I baked cookies!"

He waggled his eyebrows and waved the tray about.

"They're delish."


	11. Chapter 9

A tiny bead of sweat made its way down Darkstalker's face.

He didn't move a muscle.

He didn't dare.

It was almost nightfall, and he was currently inching the door closed. And he really meant inching- in the past twenty minutes, he had- _very _slowly- opened the door, crept inside, and begun closing it.

Still, it would be worth it if he could get to his room undetected.

Finally, the door shut, and he quietly slid the deadbolt into place. Inwardly, he sighed. Outwardly, he wiped his brow, which at this point had developed a fine sheen of perspiration, and began the process of turning around and walking to his room.

Arctic was sitting in the corner of the hallway, reading a book- ostensibly waiting for Darkstalker to come home. The Icewing had been quite engrossed in it, to the point where he hadn't noticed his son's shenanigans.

Which was a good thing.

All Darkstalker had to do now… was walk by his father without making a noise.

He geared himself up, inhaled, and took a step forward.

_Cccreak._

Arctic nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was quite the sight, honestly; under any other circumstances, seeing his father- a full-grown man- scream like a scared dragonet as he tossed his book towards the door in a desperate bid to subdue whoever had made that noise would've had Darkstalker rolling on the floor, laughing.

But not today.

Definitely not today.

_Animus power corrupts…_

Arctic tried to catch his breath, holding his chest in an attempt to slow his hammering heart.

"Hello." He said jovially. "Didn't hear you walk in."

He inhaled deeply, straightening up as he did so. "To be completely transparent, I didn't expect you to be back so soon. Could you pass me my book?"

Darkstalker picked up the book- which, for the record, had missed him by a mile- and tossed it back to Arctic, who nonchalantly caught it.

"What do you mean you didn't expect me to be back so soon?" he asked, following his father as he dragged the chair back into the dining room.

"I mean exactly that." Arctic responded, placing the chair at the head of the table and turning to go back to his room. "I expected you to be gone for much longer- at least as long as you and that girl were on the roof yesterday."

His cheeks burned. "You knew about that?"

Arctic looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. "You thought I didn't?"

Darkstalker opened his mouth to respond, and then sheepishly closed it.

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

"…so, do you want to talk about what happened today?" Arctic asked, setting the book down on the table and leaning on one of the chairs. Their conversation was decidedly not over.

"Well… I wanted to talk to Clearsight, so we went on a walk along the beach. Long story short we got trapped in the storm, took shelter in a cave, and found that Current had been washed up with the tide. It's not like we went looking for him."

"…what if I don't believe you?"

"What possible reason would I have for lying?"

"You think that I'm angry at you, and so you're trying to cover up what actually happened."

"…so you _aren't _mad at me?"

Arctic sighed, and his normally stony exterior fell- albeit not as far as it had that morning, or even that afternoon.

"When I was around your age, I ran away from my kingdom with your mother. If any host of things had gone wrong, you and your sister wouldn't have been here today. Hell, if we'd been caught, Foeslayer could've been killed. And when I consider how little I'd cared at the time… just because I was in love… I can't really get mad at you."

Darkstalker sighed in relief.

"That doesn't exempt you from all responsibility, though. Why'd you leave school?"

"Nothing was really happening, and all my classes were over…"

"And where were you _just _now?"

"With Clearsight."

There was a slight pause as Arctic scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"…have I given you the talk about the birds and the bees?"

"EW!"

"I'm going to take that as a no. Now, when a boy and a girl- or hell, even a boy and a boy or a girl and a girl or _anybody _in between- love each other very much-"

"STOP!"

"You need to know this if you're going to have a meaningful and healthy relationship with your girlfriend-"

"It isn't that! One of our professors already told us about sex."

Darkstalker shuddered, recalling what had happened. The experience, while awful for everybody involved… had been considerably worse for the mind readers in the audience.

"Alright. I can't tell you not to do anything because… you'll probably end up doing it anyways. Just be responsible. And don't break her heart."

Darkstalker grinned lightly. "Wasn't planning on it."

He walked past Arctic, and the instant his father could no longer see his face, he dropped the smile. Continuing down the hallway lined with paintings, he stumbled into his room.

Whiteout was on his bed, lying on her back as she casually spun a flat knife she used for painting in her talons. As he entered, she lined it up next to her eye, squinted at the ceiling, and tossed it so that it lodged in a crack in the granite.

"Nice shot." he said with no emotion behind the words, coming over to the bed and flopping down onto it.

"Don't mention it." she responded, hopping up and wrenching the knife out. "Congratulations, by the way.

Casually, she pulled aside the leaf curtain.

Behind it was a small twenty-by-forty-inch canvas, which had been drawn on with a whole assortment of tools- crayons, oils, watercolors, dyes- the whole nine yards. There were lots of different illustrations covering the paper, from doodles of confetti and explosions that had undoubtedly been done by a child to a small depiction of a prairie near the top that showed an almost professional level of skill- and everything in between.

In the very center was a stylized message, written with what looked like a bit of graphite-

'_Congratulations on figuring out you're an Animus, Darkstalker! I've been waiting _ years.'_

The 'six' written in between the 'waiting' and 'years' had been struck out, and replaced by a 'seven' written underneath. That too, had been struck out and replaced with an 'eight', a 'nine', and a 'ten'; all struck out; and eventually the numbers had been replaced by tally marks.

"It's been…" Whiteout produced a bit of graphite and scratched it into the paper, "…fifteen years. For the record, I began keeping this canvas at the age of six as a gift I'd give to you once you figured it out. I've known since I was two… though at that time, I didn't realize it. Once I did some research…"

She trailed off, and lifted the painting into his room- easel and all. Then she pulled the curtain shut behind it, though she remained in his room.

"Anyways, congrats! I'm sure you'll use your powers for good."

There was silence. Darkstalker was still lying on the bed, but he had his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"…Darkstalker?"

He inhaled- a ragged, sordid affair- and as he did, Whiteout noticed how tightly his fists were clenched together.

_Oh._

She flowed into his consciousness like a cool breeze would waft over a weary traveler- soothing him, mending his emotions.

_Hey, it's alright._

He gasped, and she could tell that he was close to tears.

_Stupid!_ she thought to herself. _You didn't even bother to check how he felt…_

"Animus power corrupts." he enunciated clearly, speaking it aloud in an attempt to ground himself in reality.

_Yes, but-_

"Animus power _fucking _corrupts."

He hit his fist against his forehead, gritting his teeth in his anger.

"Any day now, I could go insane and kill my entire family. Hell, I could probably kill my entire tribe if I wanted! And nothing can stop me."

Another breath.

"If I use my animus powers, I could end up corroding my soul so much I can't tell right from wrong. I could end up committing genocides, or destroying planets, or…"

He trailed off.

…

"…goddamnit."

Whiteout flopped onto the bed next to him, inspecting the ceiling with such intensity that for a second, he was convinced she could see through it… and was staring up at the starry sky.

"I was hoping you'd be at least a little excited." she continued, tapping her claws against one another.

"…animus power corrupts-"

"Yeah, yeah, save it for later."

She sighed deeply, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be dismissive, it's just- I need to be careful what I say."

Darkstalker blinked slowly, dragging his weary gaze to meet Whiteout's.

"…is this conversation important in the future?"

"More than you could ever imagine."

…

"…what will I do, Whiteout?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will I be a… monster?"

She groaned, turning to face him head on.

"This may not be the best thing for you to hear right now… but it's still unclear."

"So yes."

"No-"

"Will I kill innocent people?" he rasped, and she could tell he was close to tears. "Will I try destroying the world? Will I-"

His composure shattered, and for just a second, he was that scared dragonet from so many years ago- the one who had become so terrified of the things he saw in his dreams that Whiteout had spent months figuring out how to stop his visions of the future.

He was so scared.

And she hated it.

"…please."

She took his hand in hers, and drew herself close to him. As she did so, he squeezed his eyes shut- and a few tears escaped from the corners.

"…you don't trust yourself."

He swallowed, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse.

"Of course I don't."

"… then why don't you try trusting me?"

"…"

He opened his eyes and she held his gaze, teary as it may be.

"No matter what, I am still your sister. I will keep you safe."

A pause, as she clasped his hand to her chest.

"And so will Clearsight. And our parents. And every single person in your life. You're one of the nicest people I know, Darkstalker. We'll be there for you. No matter what."

He inhaled- a deep, ragged, sordid rasp- and broke down.

It was mostly silent- Darkstalker was not a loud crier. He was a messy one, though, so Whiteout stayed at his side, gently wiping away his tears.

And as she waited for the storm to pass, she considered what the visions were telling her.

Another storm loomed on the horizon- a mess of bright whites and deep blues and blood red. It would get _so _much worse before it got better- but get better it would.

It would be unpredictable.

It would be terrifying.

…but she hadn't been lying when she had told him she would be there for him.

She would.

No matter what.

…

After a while, his quiet sobs subsided, and the heaving of his chest slowed to a calm rise and fall. A few moments later, he opened his eyes.

"…better?" she asked softly, flicking away the final few droplets littering his cheeks.

He threw himself into her arms, and she could feel his smile pressing against her ear.

"Thanks, Whiteout."

She laughed.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Current wasn't pleased.

He'd had to delay his departure back to the Sea Kingdom because of intermittent storms, and because he hadn't healed enough to swim.

He _had _to get back to his people. He couldn't see how the Nightwings couldn't understand that.

And to make matters worse, he was now being pestered by what appeared to be a rather depressed teenager.

He rubbed the skin above his nose, grunting in frustration. "Kid, I don't know much about being an animus- or how difficult it is. All I know is that having the power can corrupt a person's soul."

"But-"

"Listen, the only reason I'm even talking to you is because you saved my life, alright? And I'd advise you not to waste my goodwill."

The dragon sighed, and Current couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. The poor guy had probably imagined animi to be superheroes or something- not… this.

And that was just a real shame.

"I'm sorry, kid. At some point, you have to grow up."

He looked up with a sharp glint of sorrow in his eyes.

"…do you know anybody who would know more about this subject than yourself?"

Current paused, and turned to look out of the window. The castle afforded him a fantastic view of the sea, and he was constantly drawn to staring at it. Today, the ocean was restless- waves rippling fiercely far into the distance. The clouds didn't help- and he was sure the wind was picking up.

"…there is another animus." Current stated simply. "He's probably the only remaining living animus- unless he died in the massacre too. If I- no, _when _I get home, I'll try to get him in touch with you."

The Nightwing smiled softly. "Thank you."

Without waiting for a response, he left. The resounding thud the door closed with…

…made Current feel a tiny bit less whole.

Once more, he turned to stare at the greying water.

…_I'll make it back. _

_I'm sure of it._

* * *

This time, Clearsight didn't even stop at the door.

Instead, she bypassed it entirely; landing directly on the ledge outside Darkstalker's window.

Quietly peeking in through the scratched pane, she tapped the glass.

"Darkstalker?" she mouthed. seeing a dark blob rise from the corner of the room and make its way towards her.

Her hopes were shattered once the sunlight hit the blob's scales, revealing them to be pure white.

"Hello, Clearsight." Whiteout whispered, cracking the pane open.

"Where's Darkstalker?" she asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

She sighed, and pointed over in the corner- where Darkstalker was basically curled into a ball.

"He went and visited that Seawing prince guy earlier today." Whiteout hissed. "That _didn't _help. So here we are."

She sighed, and extended her hand. "Anyways, he's all yours."

Clearsight clasped the icy talon in hers, and pulled herself into the room. Whiteout shook her head, put a finger to her lips, and then- with surprising grace- leapt out of the window and into the air.

"…are you alright?" Clearsight asked, approaching the dragon curled up in the corner of the room. As she neared him, he raised his head- revealing bloodshot eyes and a slightly runny nose.

"_my time's running out." _Darkstalker rasped.

"Good lord, Darkstalker!" she blurted, dropping to her knees as she took him in her arms. "What have you done to yourself?"

She met his rather shocked gaze- apparently, he hadn't expected her to do that.

"…I've been sitting here…" he began.

"…wallowing in self-loathing." she finished for him. "This isn't healthy."

"Loosing my soul to magic isn't mighty healthy either."

She groaned, and pulled him into a hug so tight he could barely breathe.

"_clearsight-" _he squeaked in alarm as his talons struggled to find purchase on her back, but then she let him go.

"Look, I found-" she scrambled to find it, and soon pulled it out from her rucksack, "-this hourglass."

He stared at it for a long second, taking in the smooth glass- and the white and black sand trapped underneath. As he slowly took it in his hand, the grains shifted so he could see his own reflection clearly; dark, sunken eyes and a mouth set into a firm line.

"…how's this supposed to help?"

She inhaled, squaring up her shoulders as she did so.

"You need to enchant it."

"NO!"

"Darkstalker, you need to trust me."

The futures split.

It was immediate, and she didn't even realize it until a few seconds after it happened.

There were now two timelines.

One where he trusted her.

…and one where he didn't.

…

…she closed her eyes, and put her hand over his heart.

"…Clearsight?"

"I found an old, almost entirely tattered scroll that mentioned something about the corruption of souls. It referred to 'sands of black and white' and 'time running out', so I assumed it had something to do with this hourglass- which is sold in the Sand kingdom, and is apparently pretty popular."

"…how do you know about it?"

"My dad visited there once. He brought this back as a souvenir. Now, what I would like you to do is enchant this to tell you how pure it is, depending on how much black or white sand is in the bulb closer to you. Can you do that for me?"

…

He brushed her hand with his, and she could feel his chest fall with some sort of finality.

"…I enchant this hourglass to show me how pure my soul is, by filling the bulb pointing towards me with the appropriate proportions of colored sand- white for purity, black for corruption."

There was silence, interrupted only by their breathing.

"…is something going to happen-"

Immediately, the sand swirled as though caught in a maelstrom- exploding in all directions, and then abruptly pulling themselves through the kink. The black sand flew through into the bulb pointing towards Clearsight, and the bulb facing towards Darkstalker-

-filled entirely with white sand.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…my soul is fine."

She looked into his shimmering eyes as the realization broke within them- not unlike a caged bird finally leaping into the open skies. Smiling, she spoke.

"I knew."

"My soul is fine!" he laughed, bringing his arms up to clutch either side of his head. "My soul is FINE!"

He almost fell into her arms, giggling with utter delight as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder.

"Everything's fine!"

"Dark-"

He closed the distance between them quick as a viper, and closed his eyes as his lips landed on hers-

_oh._

_My._

…_!_

Her heart thudded loudly, and for a second she had absolutely no idea what to do. Then her hand found his, and she brought it to her shoulder- giving him support so he could lean in even closer.

Butterflies churned in her stomach, but as she finally gave in and parted her lips… they seemed to transform into birds that lifted her miles into the air.

The feeling of his smile forming against her mouth send shivers down her spine.

He pulled back for a split second, sudden concern showing in his eyes.

"Wait, I forgot to ask. You're okay with this, ri-"

She kissed him again, effectively shutting him up in the same way that he had done to her.

"I'm fine." she whispered as they drew apart once more, a smile plastered across her face.

"We're fine."

…

…

…

…

…

…

_Which was the better future?_

…

…_the one where he didn't trust her._

…

…

…

_Is this the beginning of the end?_

…

…_no._

…

…

…

…_but it's close._


	12. Chapter 10

The joy concentrated in his heart exploded into every part of his body.

It made his chest constrict so his breaths came short and hard, it struck his joints so he couldn't even sit upright, and it elbowed its way past the lump in his throat to fly out of his mouth-

They pulled apart.

He opened his eyes to find her staring back at him, her gaze half-lidded and a furious blush splayed across her cheeks. Almost instinctively, she brushed the side of his face, tracing invisible patters on his face.

She was adorable.

"…hi." Clearsight said awkwardly, biting her lower lip.

Darkstalker grinned so widely his mouth hurt.

"Hello."

There was a small pause, during which he suddenly realised that his soul was pure, and he wasn't going to turn into a monster. In that instant, he realised that all his fears had been for nothing, and that he could probably use his magic safely.

Then he realised that he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Do you want to do that again?"

"Gods, yes."

He pulled her closer to him, unable to stop the short bark of laughter that broke free of his lungs before her lips were on his and he forgot his own name.

…

…

…

_I'm in love with her._

…

…

…

_Tap- tap- tap._

Abruptly, he found Clearsight tearing herself away from him. Giving his eyes a few moments to adjust to the world, which looked… brighter somehow… he found himself staring at the window-

-the window where the sun was outlining Whiteout's figure. His sister still had her talon raised to tap against the glass, but had frozen in place as soon as she'd realised what she had been intruding on.

There was an expression of pure, unadulterated horror on her face.

_Oh, shit. _

"Coming!" Clearsight called out nervously, scrambling to her feet. Darkstalker would've stopped her- sister be damned, that position was comfortable!- but he found himself almost unable to move… as though he weren't in control of his body.

His lover grabbed the window, and gently slid it open. Whiteout dropped in, shaking her head slowly… as though that would dislodge the images from her mind.

"Ummm, Whiteout?" Clearsight asked.

"_why…" _Whiteout rasped, eyes hollow and filled with raw, _untamed _fear.

"Look, I'm-"

Whiteout hissed, cutting her off, and then began tapping her talons against the ground in a distinctive staccato beat. After a few seconds, she stopped, and cleared her throat.

"…_why would you force me to watch that?"_

"I don't know!" Clearsight yelped.

Whiteout blinked again, looked to the ceiling, and then turned her glare upon the ground.

"I suppose that's fair." she sighed. "You two _are _adults, and you don't have to explain yourselves to me-"

"It was a spur of the moment thing, okay?"

A pause.

"…you realise that I've already moved on, right? You don't have to keep explaining yourself-"

"It just kinda happened!" Clearsight continued, still very flustered. "We figured out his soul was pure, and we were both happy, and for a second nothing happened and then _everything-"_

"Wait, hold up." Whiteout snapped her fingers together, and focused on Darkstalker. "You found out that your soul was _pure?"_

Both females turned their eyes to Darkstalker- who was slumped against the wall, a bewildered look on his dopey face. It took him a while to notice that they were staring, but once he did, a goofy grin wormed its way onto his lips, and he pointed at Clearsight.

"…did we just kiss?"

"…yes."

"…on the mouth?"

"…also yes."

He pondered it for a second.

"… for a second there I thought I had dreamt it."

He shrugged.

"Oh well."

Then he leapt up and bounded towards Clearsight, and before either of the girls could react, he had swept her up in his arms and fallen backwards onto the bed, laughing all the way. For just a second, his vision tunnelled; one second he saw the world around them, the next it was nothing but Clearsight.

He giggled softly, closing his eyes in his happiness.

"My soul is fine!" he called joyously.

And Arctic chose that exact moment to walk into the room.

He had a small seeing-eye stone pressed up to his right eye, and was glaring disdainfully down at a scroll he held in his other hand. A silent grimace graced his normally stoic features, and it was clear he was… a bit displeased.

"I need to talk to the two of you about something." he announced, scrunching up his snout as he squinted at the paper. "Also, what was that about your soul being fine-"

He looked up.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…do I want to know what I walked in on?" he asked solemnly.

Nobody appeared to have anything to say.

"…don't do that." he groaned, shaking his head at Whiteout, who was trying to leave the room by climbing out of the window. Hanging her head in shame, she slowly dropped back in.

"I'm sorry, Mister-" Clearsight began, but he waved her off.

Not my business." he sighed formally. "I just thought you'd like to know that Queen Vigilance has doubled the border patrol, so there's not much chance of anybody coming to kidnap you. Also, Current has been cleared to head back to the Sea Kingdom."

He brought the seeing-eye stone away from his eye, and flicked his talon in a curt, professional wave.

"Goodbye!"

Then he pushed the sheets back into an even stack, and left.

…

"…that's my cue!" Whiteout called after an awkward silence, and promptly defenestrated herself. After a second of freefall, her wings snapped open, and she took to the air.

Clearsight stared after her, propping herself up with her arms on either side of him. In that instant, Darkstalker found his attention captivated by how she grasped his bedsheets- bunching them up between her talons, almost as though grounding herself in this moment and no other.

"…that was an abrupt exit." she mentioned.

He nodded sagely. "Truly she is her father's daughter."

Clearsight sighed contently, and let herself fall forward onto him. Without hesitating, he threw his arms around her and pulled her closer, letting his chin rest on her shoulder, right next to her ear.

"…"

"…"

"…"

As the absurdity of the situation finally hit them head on, he began shaking softly. He jammed his fist into his mouth to try to stop his chuckles, but they just kept on coming.

And Clearsight wasn't faring any better.

"D- did that just happen?" she stammered through her giggles, pulling back so as to see his face more clearly.

And the instant they caught a glimpse of the other's barely contained mirth, they collapsed into loud, raucous laughter.

It continued for a while. In polite company, they would've been embarrassed to let such a display continue for such a long time… but right then, neither of them cared.

Eventually, they lapsed back into a comfortable silence… simply comfortable in one another's embrace.

And then Clearsight spoke.

"…I made you something."

"What?" Darkstalker asked, propping himself up so as to see her better.

"I mean, you've given me a few presents!" she responded defensively. "I thought it was about time…"

She rubbed her neck sheepishly, muzzle scrunched in just the right way to send tingles down his spine.

"…that I gave you a gift too?" she finished, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

He paused, taking the time to feel her body pressed against him.

"…I mean, I thought _I _was supposed to be seducing _you- _not the other way round."

She grinned, and suddenly they were back on even footing.

"Seduction, you say?" she asked sultrily.

Darkstalker blinked.

Once.

Hard.

"Ummm… let's go to your place?" he asked nervously, snout red as a beet. "I… don't want my dad to walk in."

Clearsight looked as though she were struggling to hold back laughter.

"That works out perfectly." she said huskily, twirling an imaginary strand of hair. "And it lets me give you your… gift."

Darkstalker gulped.

"What are we waiting for?"

* * *

Clearsight trailed off in her recollection of the story, letting a thoughtful gaze wander onto her face. Resting her chin on her hand, she stared off into space…

"Hey!" Listener clapped furiously, disturbing many of the students seated around them. "Why'd you stop? We were just getting to the good part!"

It was two days after Darkstalker had figured out his soul was pure, and they had both spent that time in… no other word could describe it- bliss.

Maybe that was why she was sharing the story of that night with Listener, of all people. Of course, the Nightwing was one of Clearsight's best friends, but she was also a bit… chatty.

Of course, she was also incredibly gullible, which is why Clearsight was embellishing her tale with a few details that might've been the tiniest bit untrue.

Not very untrue.

Just a bit untrue.

The Nightwing shook her head sadly, inspecting their surroundings. They were seated on the grassy knoll outside the school building, just a stone's throw from the cafeteria. In fact, they were so close to the cafeteria that they probably could've sat on the actual seats. But nooo, the professor had _insisted _that they sit on the grass.

So they had.

And it sucked.

"Come on!" Listener complained, punching her shoulder lightly.

Clearsight pointedly ignored her, and instead focused her attention on a small dandelion growing out of the ground next to her. For a second she was tempted to pluck it, and blow on it for a wish… but she ultimately decided against it.

"You can't ignore me forever!"

Clearsight inhaled deeply, and suddenly the world seemed to snap into focus. The smell of lavender perfume (the type Listener usually wore) permeated her lungs, her hands sunk deeper into the dewy strands of uncut grass, and her legs tingled.

_Oh good, they're already asleep. _That _won't be painful later._

"I could give you ad-_viiiice!" _Listener sang as she flailed her arms in front of Clearsight's snout in an effort to provoke _any _reaction. Abruptly, the precognitive Nightwing was reminded of something she'd once read in a book about arachnophobia…

_The male spider often dances for the female's attention._

Groaning, she readjusted her crossed legs and tried to massage some feeling into them. Rest assured, standing up and walking back inside would be pure agony.

"TELL ME SOMETHING!" Listener demanded, eyes narrowed to the point where she looked positively homicidal. Any dragon that didn't know her would be worried for their lives. Those who did know her wouldn't bat an eyelid.

Clearsight pondered the question dramatically, going so far as to _hmmm _aloud.

"…I have no idea." she admitted.

Listener pushed her, but there was a smile on her face. It was clear she wasn't taking this conversation very seriously… but she still kept up the façade.

"_TELL ME!" _she growled threateningly, holding an imaginary knife to Clearsight's throat.

"I don't remember!" she wailed playfully, turning to Listener with her puppy-eyes. The Nightwing in question huffed, and turned her head away.

"Hey, c'mon!" Clearsight asserted, trying to turn her back around. "Don't be like that!"

Listener threw her arms up in the air, a bit exasperated.

"You can't just tell me that incredibly suggestive story, and then cut it off like that!"

"It's not like you're missing out on anything!"

Listener considered the retort. "I suppose that _could _be true. Did you fu-"

"We're in polite company, Listener." Clearsight reminded her quickly.

Listener shrugged. "Alright. So, did Darkstalker *ahem* 'go spelunking'?"

It took her a second.

A heated blush spread across Clearsight's face, and she suddenly realised that their surroundings were a _tad _too warm for her tastes.

Listener saw the look on her face, and nodded solemnly. "Ah, I guess that's more of a third date thing. Did you *ahem* 'tip the velvet'?"

Clearsight gaped at her friend incredulously, a hand held to her mouth in mock horror. Listener had even added air quotes! The _nerve!_

"How uncouth!" she proclaimed, before dropping the act. "Also, no."

Listener was unperturbed. "Did you-"

"Listener-" she hissed, aware of the odd looks they were getting. Behind them, one of the students appeared to be taking notes. "Seriously."

Unfortunately, Listener took this as a challenge.

"Did you ride him?"

"LISTENER, HOLY SHIT-"

"Did _he _ride _you_?"

"OH MY FUCKING-"

"Is he a squi-"

"WE DIDN'T HAVE SEX!"

With impeccable comedic timing, the chatter of the students around them went silent. Sure, there were a few stragglers that continued talking, but even they stopped almost immediately.

Now, if Clearsight had had even the tiniest morsel of luck, this could've been chalked up to the school populace being scandalized by what Clearsight had blurted out. Unfortunately, she happened to know that the students were far more… raunchy than they let on.

And so, the realization sept into her like ice into veins. Hence, even before she turned around, she knew what she was going to see.

The professor stood near the door that led onto the lawn, utterly flabbergasted; reading glasses knocked askew due to his shock. He was flanked by what _appeared _to be the royal guard, and behind them, a tall, imposing, figure that _appeared _to be the queen was struggling to contain her laughter.

_Welp._

_I screwed up._

The professor shook his head, muttered "_most unorthodox" _underneath his breath, and pulled out a rather rumpled scroll.

"Announcing Queen Vigilance of the Nightwings, bringer of joy and happiness, most attractive of dragons, praise be her name."

He sucked in a breath, apparently eager to continue his brownnosing, but was elbowed into submission by the guards- who escorted Queen Vigilance out onto the lawn. As the Nightwing Queen strolled across the lawn, ostensibly to address the students, her shrewd gaze fell upon Clearsight- and immediately filled with recognition.

Once more, if Clearsight had had any luck, Vigilance would've recognised her as the person who had just revealed her sexual history to the school. Unfortunately, as she would soon find out, that was not the case.

_Goddamnit._

The grass swayed in the gentle breeze, and above them, the clouds whorled into wondrously massive spirals. The sky itself was a wonderful aquatic blue, and everything from the crisp mountain air to the butterfly darting across the lawn was utterly beautiful.

And, as she was surrounded by all this beauty, Clearsight found herself re-evaluating all the life choices that had led her to this moment. The moment in question, of course, was her being stared down by the Nightwing Queen after having very loudly declared to the entire school that she hadn't slept with her boyfriend.

_It's like the universe has it out for me or something._

Vigilance threw her shoulders back as she stood in front of them- and the diamonds embedded into her wings glinted in the sunlight. From where Clearsight sat, the Queen was the splitting image of beauty and power- perhaps even more so than when she had been holding court.

However, while the Queen was most _assuredly_ attractive… she was doing something rather weird with her head.

She was holding it as high as possible, not even lowering it to look at other dragons.

_Hunh._

This was presumably in an effort to make anybody that wasn't Vigilance feel inferior, as though they were 'below' her. It also made her far more intimidating, since any light sources that weren't directly above her cast eerie shadows across her face. All in all, it was a fascinatingly informative study in royal presentation.

…

_Hmmm…_

…

…_I wonder how she looks at dragons that are taller_ _than her._

Clearsight leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands and her arms on her crossed legs as she pondered the question.

_Does she keep her head so high that it becomes perpendicular to the ground?_

_Does she have her guards hoist her higher than the other dragon?_

_Does she simply not make eye contact at all?_

Clearsight did not envy any of the mind readers in the audience unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her thoughts.

"Dear Students, I have _several _announcements to make."

The Queen cleared her throat regally, dabbing at her lips with a dainty white handkerchief, and then launched into her diatribe.

_Woohoo. _Clearsight thought, her heart filling with the exact opposite of excitement.

As the Queen continued to bloviate about taxes, and how she had done so much for the kingdom, and more taxes, and had she mentioned how awesome she was? oh, never mind that, more taxes… Clearsight found her mind wandering back to Darkstalker.

She hadn't been lying to Listener- Darkstalker and her hadn't done anything even remotely frisky last night. It seemed… unnecessary. In fact, she was certain that the thought hadn't even crossed their minds.

Now, she wasn't kidding herself. She knew from the many, many possible futures that spiralled through her head that they would probably fornicate at some point. It was simply that… right now, they were far more content simply being with one another.

As evidenced by what had happened after she'd given Darkstalker his gift.

Her talons sunk further into the soft earth, and the Queen's drone faded to background noise as Clearsight cast her now-closed eyes to the sky, revelling in the memory…

"_So, we're back."_

_Darkstalker was sprawled across the tops of the stacks of paper that populated her room, lying on his back with his arms, legs, tail and wings akimbo. When looked at from above, he probably looked like someone trying to fit themselves into a chalk outline on a sidewalk._

_Clearsight grinned as she looked over to him, lying as he was. She was still setting up the 'gift' she had made for him, and had requested that he go lie down in the exact centre of the room- a request he had happily obliged. _

"_Are you done?" he asked rather awkwardly, raising his head so as to see her better. She fastened the last screw, tightened it delicately, and then leaned across some more stacks of paper to close the thick curtains. Now, only the tiniest sliver of light seeped into the room. _

_Another tug on the heavy fabric, and the room was plunged into darkness. Grinning, she ignited the lamp._

_And all around them, the stars flared into life._

_Darkstalker gasped in delight- and then wheezed as Clearsight leapt onto him, smothering him in a tight hug. As they settled into the embrace; him underneath, his arms around her shoulders and neck, and her on top; slightly skewed so she was pressed against his side instead of directly on top of him; he sighed contentedly. _

…

"_Do you like it?" she whispered, loathe to break the stunning silence._

_He laughed softly, not once looking away from the room around them. The stars were reflected in his wide eyes, and she could almost imagine them twinkling… dancing across those oceans mirthfully._

"_It's incredible." he whispered back, his joy palpable. "Like, it's _so _amazing! I- I…"_

_He shook his head slowly, grinning all the while._

"_I'm at a loss for words."_

"_It was nothing." she lied, trying to appear humble. "I just poked some holes in a lampshade. Didn't take more than half an hour."_

_He tightened his grip on her, running a hand along the ridge of her spine. _

"_And I'm the Queen of the Seawings." he replied. "Clearsight, you drew individual constellations into there!"_

_She opened her eyes, and looked up again. Scattered amongst the random clusters of differently-sized dots were small tracings, which she was rather proud of. The gist of it was; she had drawn in constellations, poked holes where the stars went, and then delicately ran a needle along the lines connecting them in her drawing. _

_It was a technique she had pioneered after two hours of experimenting with old lampshades, and it had taken her a long time to figure out how to make it look good. In the end, the only purpose they served was to make it easier to spot the constellations. _

_Didn't make them less pretty, though._

"_Oh, those?" she waved a hand dismissively. "They're not even in the correct place."_

_Darkstalker gently touched her chin, encouraging her to look into his eyes. _

"_Who cares if it's not an exact replica of the night sky?"_

_She opened her mouth to retort- but then thought better of it. Instead, she placed her head on his chest, and snuggled up tighter against him._

"_To be honest," he continued, taking one of her talons in his, "I like this version of the sky better."_

_Around them, the pinpricks of orange light waltzed gleefully. The soft light illuminated the room around them, but didn't detract from the glorious view before them._

_Though the lovers would have varying opinions on what the view itself was. _

_Darkstalker had eyes only for the constellations. His eyes darted across the ceiling, trying to catch glimpses of the patterns Clearsight had taught him to recognise not so long ago. Yet even so… his hands never left the Nightwing. _

_His right talon grasped her left, fingers interlaced perfectly as he slowly brought it up to his mouth and kissed it- quite the gentleman. Then other was stroking her head gently… as though apologising for his distraction. _

_Clearsight didn't care. _

_She only had eyes for him. _

_The Nightwing liked to imagine that she could track what Darkstalker was feeling at each moment. It was a mixture of gratitude, wonderment and pure, utter happiness. Every few seconds, she saw a glimmer in his eyes, and a quickening in his pulse- and she knew he'd spotted another constellation. _

_The light outlined his rough edges, silhouetting him against the rest of the room. In fact, from the angle she was lying at, he was a lighthouse amidst stormy seas… a way for her to find her way home._

_She smiled, and hugged him even tighter. _

"_Hey!" he protested weakly. "I'm not a teddy bear!"_

"_Yes, you are." she declared petulantly, voice muffled by virtue of her mouth being pressed against his chest. She knew she sounded like a little dragonet- but she didn't care. _

_She didn't care._

_Darkstalker tore his gaze away from the stars, and pulled her up so that she was more at his eye level. Smiling, he held her back._

"_You know I love you, right?" he asked._

_She released her vice-like grip on his torso for just an instant, and pecked him on the nose. _

"_Of course!" she responded while settling back into her previous position. "And I love you too."_

_She didn't even need to look to know that he was smiling. _

_And honestly, she didn't care that the futures were slowly getting darker and darker. She didn't care that things were probably going to hell. _

_Because in this moment, they were happy._

_So they lay there, underneath the faux sky, and dreamed that everything would work out fine. _

…

The sounds of cheering made her realise that daydreaming while the Queen gave a speech wasn't very wise. So, with great difficulty, Clearsight wrenched herself out of her flashback and into the present. As her eyes refocused on the stage, she saw Vigilance's cold glare pass over her, and then move onto another dragon in the crowd.

_Darkstalker. _she realised immediately, seeing a flash of those familiar jet-black scales among the other dragons. Looking back at the stage, she sighed in relief. It appeared that Vigilance was finally winding down.

"… and lastly, I have noticed that the two dragons who brought Prince Current to the palace in order to get him medical attention are in the crowd. Therefore, they will be the ones who talk to our ambassadors, and host them while they visit us."

_Yea- WAIT, WHAT?_

Vigilance bowed, somehow keeping her head as high as possible, and then left. Her security detail followed, casting suspicious eyes across the lawn.

And then they were gone.

And Clearsight was left with the question.

_What the _hell _did I miss?_

"Ummm…" she turned to Listener, unsure how to phrase her question politely, "…what just happened?"

Listener was staring open-mouthed at the now-empty podium, eyes wide and canines exposed in a bewildered grin.

"_The Seawings are visiting!" _she squealed excitedly, holding her fists to her face in her glee.

In Clearsight's mind, the carousel of futures spun haphazardly. Timelines bunched together, rolling themselves into neat balls or spinning off wildly into the ether. The flashing images got brighter, and louder, and brighter, and louder, and brighter, and louder, and brighter, and louder-

And then they stopped.

And the puzzle pieces fell into place.

And Clearsight, ever the eloquent speaker, decided to voice her opinion of the timelines that had just manifested. The sentiment she was about to express was shared by Whiteout too, though she would only find that out much later.

For now, she just opened her mouth, and breathed.

"Fuck."


	13. Chapter 11

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

Arctic rose with the sun, and was followed by Foeslayer, who often found it a bit more difficult to get out of bed in the morning. They set about making breakfast, and getting ready for work. Usually, Whiteout would join them within about half an hour, making Darkstalker the last one to arrive.

However…

"Sorry, guys." Whiteout winced, stumbling into the dining room long after Darkstalker had begun breakfast. She held a talon to her forehead, massaging her temples. "I just have a killer headache."

Arctic sighed, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek as she sat down. "It isn't a fever, but I still think you should take the day off."

"No argument there." she mumbled, propping her head up in an attempt to stay presentable.

Foeslayer walked in, clutching a pile of envelopes. "Mail. Also, Darkstalker, slurping is rude."

Darkstalker continued eating his cereal with a voracious savageness usually only found in wild animals, ignoring his mother's advice entirely. Foreslayer simply sighed, and pushed half the mail towards Arctic. As they set about sorting through the letters, Whiteout grabbed a piece of bread and slowly munched on it.

"Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail…"

"Reminder to pay our taxes… more junk mail…"

"Junk- hmmm, invitations to a gala honouring 'Master Fathom' and 'Lady Indigo'."

Arctic extracted three cards with dainty pink borders, embroidered with lace. The flowery font was so hard to read he had to extract his seeing-eye stone and spend about a full minute squinting at the text.

"… invitations for all of us _except_ Whiteout."

Whiteout placed her head down on the desk and groaned loudly. That, apparently, had been the straw that had broken the camel's back.

"That's weird." Darkstalker began, finally done with his cereal. "Why would the Queen do something like that? I mean, she seemed pretty nice when we met her. And she seemed mostly fine when she came to speak at our school."

Foeslayer took all the junk mail and piled it into a heap on the stove. She then breathed fire, letting it catch. "Oh, did she now?"

"Yeah!" Darkstalker wiped at his mouth, getting a bit excited. "She _was _acting really strange the entire time, though…"

As Darkstalker continued babbling, Arctic placed the invitations back into the envelope, and tossed it over his shoulder with a graceful and almost imperceptible flick of his wrist. Without looking, Foeslayer's hand shot out to catch it. Casually, the Nightwing slid it across the counter, and let it settle right on top of the now-roaring fire.

The delicate paper caught immediately.

"Arctic, tea!" Foeslayer called softly, wiping her hands on a dishcloth before switching places with Arctic. While he heaved a pot onto the stove and poured some water into it, she grabbed some stationary and began scribbling a letter.

"The way she spoke was _really _weird too." Darkstalker continued, oblivious to the goings-on around him. "She kept pausing in the wrong places, sometimes she slipped up and used the royal 'we' which was like _what even…"_

He continued talking as Foeslayer finished up the letter, and then snapped her fingers. Arctic walked over from where he was watching the water boil, and signed the parchment. Then he grabbed some tea leaves and cardamom, and tossed them into the pot.

"…and she kept _looking _at me and I _don't _know why…"

"Darkstalker, could you get that signet ring I keep in my drawer?" Arctic asked, stepping away from the stove. "And some wax, please?"

Without pausing in his rant, Darkstalker got up to go into the other room. As his words faded out, Foeslayer once more swapped places with Arctic, and sniffed the tea.

"It's close to being done." she mentioned as Arctic added a few more paragraphs to the letter. "Also, _elaichi? _You shouldn't have."

"Winter is coming." he responded, shrugging. "The spices help warm us up."

"You treat me too well."

Darkstalker walked back into the room, carrying the signet ring and a small cup of crimson wax. As Foeslayer grabbed the pot and let the tea steep, her son picked up a pair of tongs and held the cup over the fire. In a few seconds it had melted, making it a viscous red liquid.

"…and I think she was trying to keep her expression regal, but honestly she just looked constipated…"

Arctic tapped the quill against his chin, reading over the letter once more. Satisfied, he passed it to Foeslayer. After she'd taken a cursory glance, she waved over Darkstalker, who poured the wax onto the envelope, sealing it. Finally, Darkstalker set down the cup and pressed the ring into the wax.

"…so yeah, it was pretty cool. And it means me and Clearsight will be spending more time together, so _that's _a net positive. Anyways, how was your day?"

He pulled the signet ring out, the wax having dried by now. With a final glance, Arctic set the sealed envelope aside.

"Good. Anyways, who's going to deliver the letter? Not me!"

"NOT ME!" Foeslayer yelled, throwing her hands up and backing away.

"_Not me." _mumbled Whiteout, her voice muffled by the table.

Both Arctic and Foeslayer turned to Darkstalker, who had been the only one not to say 'not me'. He sighed, resigned to his fate.

"Alright, where do I go?"

"The palace." Arctic responded nonchalantly. "Ask the person you deliver it to to make sure it gets to the queen."

"…what's in it?"

"An explanation as to why we aren't coming to the gala _unless _she wants to send an invitation for Whiteout too." Foeslayer answered, pouring the tea out of the pot and into some cups. "Along with a few choice insults."

Whiteout raised her head from the table just as a steaming cup of tea was pushed in front of her. Picking it up, she took a small sip.

"You don't have to do this, you know." she mentioned, staring into the murky depths of the cup. "I'm fine with staying at home."

Foeslayer took her seat at the table just as Darkstalker left to deliver the letter, muttering under his breath.

"My dear, we're a family. Either they get all of us, or they get none of us."

Whiteout let a small smile wander onto her face.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now, finish your tea. It'll help."


	14. Chapter 12

Clearsight had woken up to the sound of tapping on her window.

Being the responsible, sensible, and energetic young adult that she was, she had decided that the best course of action was to resolutely ignore it; and to that effect, she pulled her pillow over her head in an effort to drown out the noise.

Of course, despite her frankly _brilliant_ solution to the problem, the tapping persisted, becoming louder and more frequent with every passing second.

…_.aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAARGH!_

And with that, she'd had to drag herself out from underneath her covers, rub her eyes blearily, yawn, and head to the window with a stomp in her step that was a definite precursor to extreme (but not _entirely _unwarranted) violence.

Throwing aside the heavy blinds, she hissed as even the meagre light that managed to penetrate the cloud cover burned itself into her retinas.

_It's official; I'm turning into a vampire._

Blinking away the spots in her vision, she was greeted by an _absolutely drenched _Darkstalker. The boy was perched on the ledge just outside her window, wings spread to avoid falling to the ground, grinning widely despite the ungodly hour he had woken her up at.

"Hey!" he said, waving at her through the glass. Water was pouring off his snout like a crappy replica of Angel Falls, and his spikes were plastered to his head.

He also appeared to be wearing a monocle and wielding an aristocratic walking stick, but that part was _so _weird that it was _definitely_ a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, exaggeratedly mouthing the words in case she couldn't.

"…_mmmmmm…" _she whispered, smacking her lips and trying to prevent her half-lidded eyes from closing even further. "…_so _tired_…"_

"Watch this!" he responded, voice muffled lightly by the glass and almost completely drowned out by the rain.

…_what. _Clearsight thought to herself as her boyfriend twirled his stick, almost as though he were the lead singer of a barbershop quartet attempting to seduce a young lady.

"_Goooooood _morning, darling!" he called in a baritone rumble that evoked sunny days in the British countryside, as opposed to the wet, gloomy, and all-around dreary morning that they had both woken up to. The only thing that would make this pitiable display even_ more_ woefully ironic would be a comment about the weather being wonderful.

"Wonderful weather we're having." Darkstalker continued, as though oblivious to the downpour he was currently standing in. "Perfect day for a _Gala, _isn't it?"

_Oh yeah. _Clearsight thought, mind still cloudy with sleep. _The Gala._

She promptly closed the blinds with such severity that she almost tore them from the curtain rod, slid to the ground with her back against the wall, grabbed a stack of papers to use as a rudimentary pillow, and proceeded to fall asleep.

…that is, until the tapping started up again.

Groaning loudly, she threw the papers clean across the room in an act of violence she would _definitely _regret once she was fully awake, pushed herself up using the wall as leverage, slipped her hand in between the slats of the blinds and unlatched the window.

This, of course, had the unintended consequence of exposing the thousands of papers that littered her room to both wind and rain; not to mention Darkstalker's excited _whoop_.

"_Could you keep it down?" _she groaned, flopping to the ground with the dual purpose of preventing the papers closest to the window from flying away and to try and get some shut eye.

Outside, Darkstalker flailed; clearly not having accounted for the fact that the window opened _outwards. _For a second it seemed as though he was going to fall off the ledge, but a flutter of his wings put him back on balance.

"_Don't be a sourpuss!" _he chirped, closing his eyes with a sort of smug certainty that made her want to pull his scales out. "_It's the big day, after alllllll!"_

"If you break into a musical number, I _swear to all the gods I'll break your kneecaps!"_

That gave him pause.

"…Clearsight?" he asked with trepidation, slowly leaning into the room, getting water _all over the carpet in the process and oh god her papers were soaked-_

She inhaled deeply, smashing her face against the soggy parchment that had replaced her crisp stacks of paper. This much stress and anger couldn't be good for her blood pressure.

"Clearsight…. were you _asleep?"_ Darkstalker asked with such sincerity dripping from his jaw… that same jaw she wished she could punch _really hard… _that she could no longer doubt his innocence. He _really _hadn't realised that she'd been sleeping.

"…_fffff_uuuuck!"

She groaned, running a single talon down the length of her face as she rolled onto her back. There was no way in hell she was getting back to sleep after that display.

"…_Clearsight?"_

The day of the gala had come.

* * *

Clearsight was nursing a coffee.

Normally she drank Cappuccinos- sure, stronger brews would get copious amounts of caffeine into her system _that much _faster, but she simply didn't like the trade-off; that being, having to drink _bitter garbage _masquerading as a pick-me-up drink.

Today, however, was a special day.

That's why she was doing Espresso shots.

Well, calling them 'shots' was a bit disingenuous. In actuality, she had brewed enough Espresso for five shots, mixed in some of her father's whiskey (she needed it), waited until it was cool enough to drink, and then began chugging it _right out of the pot_. Quite a lot of it was tricking down her chin and dripping onto her hash browns, but she didn't particularly care.

Darkstalker sat across from her at the table, eyes wide as he took in the spectacle. On the one hand, she wanted to kill him. On the other hand, she was well aware that he was probably on whatever the teenage equivalent of a sugar rush was, and wasn't really thinking straight.

_He'll be back to his semi-sensible self in no time. _The rational side of her brain justified.

_MUUUURDER. _The less-than-rational side countered.

She slammed the pot down, belching loudly before she tore into the soggy mess that had once been her hash browns. Both sides were putting forward a _very_ convincing argument. The jury was still out on which option she would choose.

As she set her silverware down, letting the food and drink settle into her stomach before she continued, the sound of rain pattering against the mountain became a bit louder, convincing her that the universe had it out for her.

_Ungh. _She thought, sticking her hand into the mess of spikes behind her head. It was all sorts of tangled up, and would probably require extensive treatment to be presentable. As it was, her spikes were suspended in a haphazard halo around her head, making her look far more like a frilled-neck lizard than she was comfortable with.

_At least the Rainwings can pull a frilled-neck look off. I just look startled._

Grunting, she tried to work the tangles out, but gave up just about half a second in and continued ravenously devouring her breakfast. The Espresso was finally kicking in, but instead of waking her up, it was just increasing her heart rate. She could almost feel the blood pumping faster.

"_I'mma have a fucking aneurysm." _she mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and bread, feeling the pressure in her head increasing.

"What?" Darkstalker asked, suddenly snapping to attention.

"I _said," _she repeated, not bothering to close her mouth as she ate (hey, if he wanted table manners he shouldn't have woken her up at six in the morning), "that I'm going to have a _fucking _aneurysm."

"oh." he said in a small voice, shrinking back in on himself, and Clearsight found herself sighing.

_Now look what you've gone and done! _Her brain screamed, and she was inclined to agree.

"Ah, relax!" she leaned across the table and slapped him heartily on the shoulder. "If you _hadn't _woken me up, I'd probably be in bed 'til…. I don't know, noon."

"I got water all over your room!"

Clearsight was about to tell him that it was fine… but the she considered the years of work that had gone into her stacks of paper. The _same _stacks that were now a mushy, crumbly mess.

"…you know what?" she asked, flashing him a grin so devious that a shiver ran all the way down his spine. "You can make it up to me by wiping that frown off your face."

He sighed. "Wai-"

"Get that look off your face before I _tear it off FOR YOU!"_

"…Clearsight?"

She didn't respond… content to simply back and observe the shapes that were suddenly permeating her vision. Neon green triangles, electric blue circles, bright red streaks that ran over her surroundings… breaking up the dull monotony of the mahogany table… and the ebony cabinets… and the granite ceiling…

_Oh. _The only part of her brain that remained even semi-lucid observed, tapping a talon against its chin. _That's probably the caffeine kicking in right there. Hope you don't die!_

With that, the manifestation of her subconscious sprouted butterfly wings and took to the skies, spiralling across the table and disappearing into a _poof_ of impossibly-coloured smoke as it hit the apex of its flight, obscuring her vision momentarily.

The smoke soon disappeared, however, followed promptly by the weird shapes in her vision. They were replaced by the sight of Darkstalker's concerned face hovering over hers. In her current state, she couldn't really process anything about him other than the fact that he looked really cute.

So, she kissed him.

"I'm fine!" she announced as she pulled away from their sloppy makeout session, well aware that she'd managed to transfer a significant amount of her hash browns into Darkstalker's mouth. "Everything's fine. Just swell. We should probably head out. _After _you swallow the remainder of my breakfast, and I get a chance to clean up. Yeah. It's all fine. Yep. It's fine. It's fine!"

She punctuated that last 'fine' by slamming her fist onto the table. Unfortunately, all that did was alert her to the fact that her whole body was _vibrating _with energy.

Darkstalker swallowed, and put his hand over hers; though whether it was to placate her or reassure _himself, _she couldn't tell. "Ummm…. what about the mess we just made?"

"Eh." She slid her hand out from underneath his, tilting her plate and finishing off her breakfast with one gigantic munch.

"It's whatever. _Let's go_!"

* * *

The palace was a labyrinth of lavish rooms, hallways drenched in linen and exquisite paintings, and decorative suits of armour erected almost every twenty paces; sometimes fewer. Occasionally, the monotony would be broken by a stained-glass window inlaid with Queen Vigilance's gilded visage; or, less often, a clear window, affording the occasional onlooker a view of the vast expanse of the prairie and the mountains beyond; but that was about it.

Sure, it was an aggrandizing display of power and wealth, but let's be honest; if you've seen one annoyingly opulent castle, you've seen them all. Besides, Darkstalker and Clearsight had bigger fish to fry.

"…we're lost, Clearsight."

"No!"

"You _have _to admit it at some point."

Clearsight groaned, gesticulating in anger. She'd managed to tame her spikes by applying an unhealthy amount of gel to them; which meant that instead of moving individually, her spikes all clumped together and moved as a unit. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

"No, we're _not!"_

Darkstalker stopped, raising an eyebrow like a drawbridge.

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"…prove it."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the corridor. It didn't help that all the hallways seemed to blend into each other, and each one of them was so bland and boring that absolutely _nothing _stood out. The most interesting thing either of them had seen since one of the guards had handed them a map with their destination marked and let them loose upon the palace grounds had been a statue of a guy with _massive _muscles.

They had both agreed that he was hot,and had moved on.

"…our destination _should _be right… through… here!"

Clearsight threw open a door, and then immediately closed it.

"That wasn't it!" she announced, walking away as a blush began to spread across her face.

Darkstalker glanced into the room (which had actually been a broom closet) where two of the guards-

_oh._

_Oh._

_OH. _

He shut the door hard enough to knock one of the paintings on the adjacent wall off kilter, and beat a hasty retreat towards his girlfriend.

They were silent for the next few halls.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…ready to admit that we're lost?"

She rolled her eyes, thrusting the map at him. "_Fine. _But I'm _telling_ you that there's _something_ wrong with that map."

Darkstalker grinned, unfurling the parchment. "Yeah, right."

Clearsight groaned, shoving him softly. "There _is!"_

He put his arm around her shoulder, and violently nuzzled her head. Sure, it mussed up her spikes a bit, but as far as he was concerned that just made her look better.

Then he kissed her forehead, subtly smoothing her spikes down again.

"…you win _this _round, Darkstalker." she grumbled with _no _animosity in her voice. It was clear that she was just grumbling to keep up appearances… and that filled his heart with warmth.

He chuckled, returning to the map. Using it to navigate couldn't be _that _hard, could it?

* * *

"Ah!" the guard they were talking to tapped the map hard, handing it back to them. "I see the problem. The castle undergoes a full renovation every five years for security reasons; they change _everything. _This right here is a map from about four years ago!"

Darkstalker groaned as Clearsight shot him a smug grin. "So, Clearsight was right. Anyways, can you-"

"Absolutely!" the guard responded, fiddling around in a small cubby behind them. "…here! This is a map that's more up to date, and…" they scribbled a rough marking onto it, "…the room you're supposed to get there is in _this _general area."

"Alright!" Darkstalker responded, taking the map. "Thanks!"

"Glad to help!"

After another fifteen rounds of the grounds, which had been helpfully punctuated by their rediscovery of the absolutely _shredded _statue, Darkstalker had finally decided to stop and ask for directions. At least that was something that could be said for both him and Clearsight; they were both stubborn as mules, and complemented one another in that regard.

Still, all that walking had definitely taken its toll; Clearsight had finally drained all her reserves of caffeine-derived energy, and Darkstalker wasn't feeling all that much better. All in all, the morning so far had been a simply _dreadful _waste of time.

There was, however, a silver lining to all the suffering and despair our feisty protagonists had to endure; one that could simply be attributed to evolution, or some other similarly obscure biological mechanism.

Interactions between individuals that are beyond the 24-hour sleep deprivation mark get _really _interesting _really _fast.

As they were strolling down another featureless hallway, Darkstalker noticed that Clearsight was staring at something on his face. Normally, he would've waited until an appropriate opening came up, and then confronted her. However, his exhaustion had made him lose what little tact he had.

"Is something on my face?" he asked, though not unkindly. That's another thing about interactions between individuals past the 24-hour sleep deprivation mark; they are either _extremely _polite… or _incredibly, _almost _impressively _uncivilized.

Clearsight blinked _hard. _

"…sorry, it's just… _ummmm…_"

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she approached him with the trepidation of a poacher crouched in the lush foliage of some tropical jungle attempting to bag a tiger without getting munched.

And then, reaching up to his eyes with her talon outstretched, she tapped his monocle.

"_It's real_." she breathed, eyes expanding in shock and awe and horror and a myriad of other emotions he couldn't _quite _place. "I… I don't _believe _it! I thought I was hallucinating!"

Darkstalker grinned, acutely aware that the world wasn't making much sense and _welcoming it_. "Nope! I've got a monocle _and _a walking stick!"

"…"

"…"

"…_why?"_ Clearsight asked with the tone and general demeanour of someone who _simply wanted to understand. _Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Well," he puffed his chest out, straightening his spine as he did so. "We _are _meeting aristocrats, after all."

Clearsight whistled, still on the fence about whether to be horrified or amused. "So, you're just going to walk in to a room wearing _those_, and… hope for the best?_ Or _are you already prepared to spend a night in the gallows for antagonising royalty?"

His grin widened, becoming far more… _canine… _in nature_. _

"Either way…" his voice dropped an octave, rising slowly in anticipation of the punchline, "…it's going to be a _spectacle _to behold!"

…

"…_motherFU-"_

And before Clearsight could even complete her curse, the joke hit home and the lovers burst into loud, raucous laughter.

It echoed through the hallways, bringing their cold, almost clinical surroundings to life with its delightfully decadent abandon; oh, how the sound travelled through the antiseptic halls, bounding past fluted pillars and double-doors carved out of utterly _magnificent _mahogany and portraits done in voluptuous oils, reminding the guards what it was like to be young and naïve again as it passed.

"I-" Clearsight paused to let out another burst of laughter, leaning heavily on a grinning Darkstalker, "-I'm not even mad!"

"Why _would _you be?" he responded, quirking an eyebrow as he struggled to contain his giggles. "Are jokes about eyepieces too _high-brow _for you?"

"_Damnit!"_ she laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as she struggled to force words past her giggles. "…_you're insane!" _

"Well, at least I'm healthy!"

And with that, Clearsight was thrown off her stride.

Of course, saying that she had been _thrown off _by Darkstalker's most recent zinger would've been a _bit _of an understatement. She had, in fact, been utterly _flung _off her stride by… _whatever _that had been. To that extent, she spluttered for a bit, trying to rediscover the tempo of their conversation only to find that it had been reduced to flutters on the wind…

"…you lost me." she admitted.

Darkstalker almost laughed.

Almost.

Then his expression became slightly perplexed, and then it morphed into a sombre thousand-yard-glare that was probably the very dictionary definition of 'regret'.

"…what I said was _very_ stupid, I've just decided. Let's move on-"

"No!" Clearsight stamped her foot on the carpeted ground, pulling them both to a halt. "What was it?"

Darkstalker sighed, sheepishly putting a hand on his neck and rubbing it. "Well, I realised we'd be meeting nobles…"

"Yes?"

"…and I decided to learn some French…"

"Yes?"

"…'_sain' is the French word for healthy." _He concluded in a small voice.

Another pause, as the hamster wheel inside Clearsight's head spun up to relativistic speeds.

_Insane… in-sain… in health…_

She whacked him upside the head, but was unable to stop her sudden gasp of laughter.

And then she pulled him into a deep kiss.

"…you're an idiot." she breathed, pulling away after a long second. "But you're _my _idiot."

There was one final pause, in which Darkstalker seemed to have forgotten how to breathe or speak.

"Let's go!"

And with that, they were off again.

* * *

"Is this it?" Clearsight panted, glaring up at the arch leading into the long hallway.

"Yes." Darkstalker confirmed, glancing at the map. "We found it!"

"Yay!" she responded, trying (and failing) to hide a giggle as Darkstalker leaned against a suit of armour and almost sent it toppling to the ground. "And it only took us two hours, too!"

"In-" he paused, straining to avoid catastrophe with the antique armour. "-deed. There may be hope for us yet!"

They shared a hearty laugh, and then retreated into the corridor which marked their final destination. Their surroundings began to shift subtly, but noticeably; the corridor became gradually smaller, and ended in a dead end; the way forward was a smaller corridor perpendicular to this one.

"…it's fascinating." Clearsight mentioned when Darkstalker brought it up. "…I'm pretty sure Listener told me about why they did it…"

As they continued down the corridor, the windows became few and far in between, and it became apparent that the tapestries covering the walls were hiding traps behind them.

"Oh!" Clearsight suddenly exclaimed. "I just remembered; they do it to avoid having the enemy charge down a long hallway to break down a door, and to make sure they can't stay in effective battle formation."

Darkstalker raised his eyebrows, drinking in the ambiance with a bit more reverence.

"…Listener _knew_ that?"

"No. Turns out I was thinking about a book I got for my birthday."

He laughed and pulled her close, meeting yet another dead end and perpendicular corridor.

"You're quite chipper today." she mentioned, almost tripping over a particularly unkempt portion of the carpet. "Not that I'm complaining, of course. It's just… has something changed?"

"Hmmm…" he cleared his throat, and then began speaking in a faux-aristocratic tone. "Why yes, my dear. A lot has changed since I began _consorting _with _royalty._"

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "If- no, _when _you get in trouble, I'm going to say that I don't know you."

"Charmed." he snorted, his accent shifting subtly into a weird cross between aristocratic and his regular speaking voice.

"If you roll your 'r's any more violently you're going to choke."

At the end of what felt like the final corridor, there was a bust of Vigilance, disapproval emanating like radiation from the marble figurine. They both paused to stare at it for a few seconds, before moving on.

"_That bitch." _Darkstalker mumbled, before speaking up. "Did you know that Queen Vigilance didn't invite Whiteout to the Gala?"

Clearsight gasped. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Darkstalker responded, incredulity reverberating through that one syllable. "Though she _did _change her tune pretty quickly when my parents threatened to not show up."

"That's nice." she said, mostly in absence of anything else to say. "Do your parents really have _that _much leverage over her?"

"Not really. My best guess is that she'd look pretty bad if I, one of the diplomats assigned to take care of the Seawings, didn't show up."

"True. Though are you _really _going to blame her? You _know _she didn't personally hand pick the gala invitations; half the town is coming."

Darkstalker opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated.

"…I don't know. It's… ummm… a _lot _of things factor into why I don't like her."

"Humour me."

"She's untrustworthy, a bit of a snake, slightly specist, pretty ableist, and strikes me as the type of person who would spit in a five-year-old's drink."

There was silence for a while, until Darkstalker spoke again.

"Tell you what… give me until tomorrow and I'll get you a list of genuine reasons I don't like her. I don't really think my brain's functioning all that well right now."

"Deal."

As the final archway heaved into view with all the subtlety of an overenthusiastic and slightly tipsy brass band, flaunting its inlaid gemstones and precious metals as they neared, so did a guard positioned at the head of the archway… who simply waved them through.

They looked at each other, shrugged, and moved on.

"…I would've assumed they'd ask us _some _questions."

"Eh. They probably have our pictures on file or something."

"Indeed." her boyfriend continued, waving his hand about as though conducting an invisible orchestra. "Do you think they'll sound like I do?"

She hid her giggle behind her hand. "Relax! They can't be _that _bad!"

And with the unmistakable confidence of someone that didn't realise they'd just fallen victim to Murphy's Law, she turned the knob.

As Clearsight pulled the door open, the only thing that stopped her from being impaled was the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being cocked.

"Holy-"

She threw herself against the wall as a crossbow bolt flew out of the room, embedding itself with a _THUNK _in the ceiling. Beside her, Darkstalker screamed. Inside the room, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of pure, utter panic.

For a second, she was incredibly confused.

Then her brain spluttered, coughed smoke, and finally began chugging along.

"Oh, shit." she realised, timelines flashing by her eyes like a motion picture projected into her irises.

"Clearsight!" Darkstalker yelled, darting over to where she stood, trying to avoid passing in front of the now open door. "Are you-"

"I'm fine. We need to go in."

"WHAT?"

By the time the exclamation had escaped Darkstalker's lips, Clearsight had already turned the corner- and found herself looking down a rather intimidating black sword. Though the intellectual in her was fascinated by it- bubbly and porous as it was, it probably saved on weight without compromising on structural integrity- her instinct to survive told her to keep her attention on the deep purple Seawing on the other side of the blade.

The Seawing was trembling slightly, staring up at them with fear evident in her eyes… but also a sort of hard-forged determination. Fires burned deep in those oceans, deep flames of pure indigo. Despite her slight nervousness, it was clear she was a professional; her posture was immaculate, her balance was on point, and her demeanour was stony.

It was clear that she wasn't open to negotiations.

"Indigo!" Clearsight laughed cheerily, trying to ignore the promise of certain death hovering inches away from her snout. "Ummmm… we're friends!"

The Seawing's composure wavered, but then she glanced over her shoulder and it hardened back into steely resolve. "Prove it."

"Wha- how am I supposed to prove a negative?"

The sword came closer, and suddenly Darkstalker pulled her back. "Whoa, there! We're- we're your ambassadors! The ones that are… supposed to help you around!"

Indigo slowly removed the sword from Clearsight's immediate sightline, but didn't sheath it. "Names?"

"Darkstalker and Clearsight."

The fire in Indigo's eyes went out, replaced by a deep, unutterable exhaustion. As she slumped, sliding the sword back into the sheath on her back, Clearsight noticed the dark bags under her eyes.

"_Fucking damnit." _she muttered under her breath, beckoning them into the room proper.

For the first time since entering the room, Clearsight took it in. Though it was tastefully furnished- a mahogany writing desk with quills, ink and parchment galore, a lush four-poster bed with satin sheets and duck-down pillows, and tapestries in place of curtains. However, there appeared to be another dragon tucked up into the corner of the room- looking at them fearfully.

Clearsight slowly inched past Indigo, glancing at the other Seawing and wincing. "Hey, Fathom. Sorry for scaring you so much, we… didn't know about that knocking thing."

To his credit, Darkstalker was quick on the uptake. The adrenaline that was coursing through his system probably helped, too.

"No," Indigo grunted, sheathing her sword and glancing into the hallway. "It wasn't really your fault; it was the fault of the guard who I _specifically _instructed to tell the diplomats to knock."

Clearsight winced, watching as most of the timelines became permeated with a certain guard getting skewered by Indigo.

"Hey, now!" she interrupted, hustling to catch up with Indigo as she ventured into the corridor. "Let's not be too hasty!"

Indigo shrugged her arm off, almost growling as she removed the spear from the ceiling.

"Come on," Clearsight continued, trying to drag her back inside but finding very little purchase on the Seawing's seal-like skin. "We can-"

"Look." Indigo turned, hawk-like eyes trained squarely on the Nightwing. Suddenly, Clearsight found herself on the receiving end of a glare that cut deeper than any blade could.

"A few weeks ago, our prince was almost murdered. That _same _prince that's in that room right now. We don't have any guards because _most _of them are protecting the Queen, and the rest are trying to figure out what the _fuck _happened to Albatross. Capisce?"

Clearsight nodded, unsure if she was capable of doing anything else at the moment.

"I'm the only thing between _him," _she pointed to the ornate doors, flung open as they were, "and possible death. I _specifically _instructed that _godsdamned _guard to tell everybody who tried coming here to knock, or they _would_ die."

She pulled away from Clearsight, turning to walk down the corridor. "And I wasn't fucking around."

Some of the shock Clearsight felt must've showed on her face, because Indigo's expression softened slightly.

"Look, sugar, you can't deny that guard messed up. Just…" she ran a hand over her face, "I'm not sleeping well, so I'm a bit irritable."

She placed a hand on Clearsight's shoulder. "Wait in there with Fathom… I'll be back in a second. A'ight?"

Clearsight nodded, slowly retreating back into the room.

As she walked through the doors, feeling far more dejected than she had any right to, her gaze fell upon the contraption that was attached to the double doors. It appeared to be an automatic crossbow, with an elastic release that would let the projectile fly when the door was opened.

And Fathom was setting it up.

The first thing she noticed about the young prince was that he was trembling. That was... pretty depressing. And the second thing she noticed about him was the weird jelly thing on his shoulder.

"Hey, Clearsight." he smiled sadly, adjusting the failsafe that would let him disarm the bow at will. "Sorry about that, we're just a bit… paranoid."

"No, no!" she shook her head, forcing a grin. "It's totally understandable! I…"

She sat down hard, rubbing her forehead as all the pieces suddenly fell into place. "…it sounds stupid in retrospect, but we legitimately had _no _idea that you were involved in the massacre."

"Yeah." he coughed, scratching behind his ear. "That's actually why I'm here…I mean, after the massacre, my sister decided to send me and Indigo away to keep us safe, and was advised by the prince to send us here. I don't blame her… it couldn't have been easy to have a glaring reminder of animus magic next to her."

Darkstalker sighed, softly tapping Fathom's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

A series of knocks resounded against the gilded doors, and Fathom triggered the failsafe before opening them. Indigo staggered in, rubbing the bridge of her nose as he closed the door behind her.

The dark circles under the Seawings' eyes were deep and pronounced, and her mouth was set in a firm line.

"That fucker seems to think that we're playing pretend." she said, roughly slamming the spear back into the weird machine. "Asshole."

Fathom sided up to her slowly, peeling the jelly-like thing off his arm and setting it atop her head. As Clearsight watched the weird exchange, she noticed that it appeared to be moving.

"What's that?" she asked, trying to break the tension.

"Blob." Fathom smiled proudly.

"No, I know it's a blob. I mean what-"

Indigo cut both of them off.

"He's an animus-enchanted octopus. His name is Blob. He's pretty cool. The end."

"Oh."

There was another awkward pause, during which every person in the room seemed to suddenly become incredibly exhausted.

"You know what…" Darkstalker yawned. "Why don't you guys have a nap? We'll make sure to protect you."

Indigo's eyes narrowed. "You realise that if someone gets past all the traps we've laid, there's not much you two can do, right?"

Darkstalker nodded solemnly.

Suddenly, Indigo slumped, all the tension going out of her shoulders.

"A'ight. Look. There's only one window in this room, and we've already made sure nothing can get through it. The door is protected with a failsafe, and there aren't any other entrances. If you want to leave, wake one of us up, because you won't be able to disable either of the failsafe's yourselves, and if you try and betray us, we'll boil your teeth."

She turned her eyes onto the diplomats, who nodded furiously.

"Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Wonderful."

Indigo didn't hesitate. She only stopped for a split second to remove her sword, and then collapsed backwards into the high-backed armchair. Within about half a second, she was snoring softly.

Fathom blinked slowly, and then nodded in their direction. Putting one arm under Indigo's shoulder, he tried lifting her up- being careful not to injure Blob. "Hey, could one of y'all give me a hand?"

Clearsight took Indigo's other arm, much to his relief. "Thanks, dear. It's just… that position couldn't _possibly _be comfy. I'd rather not have her getting hurt."

Darkstalker yawned again, smacking his lips in an attempt to stop from immediately dozing off. "…Clearsight…"

The duo dropped Indigo onto the bed, once more being mindful of Blob- though he seemed to move across her body quick enough that he wouldn't be squished. The Seawing in question, though, immediately grabbed a pillow, clutched it to her chest, and began snoring.

Fathom smiled sheepishly; and oddly enough, despite the circumstances, it seemed to be the most genuine one he'd given them all day. "I apologize again, guys. We're just… so on _edge_ these past few days… what with everything being so _new _and all…"

Clearsight patted him on the shoulder, smiling as she lay down next to Darkstalker- who immediately claimed her as a pillow. "Hey, it's fine. It's not like we blame you or anything."

"Alright."

There were a few minutes, during which the lights were dimmed, and all the inhabitants of the room settled down.

"Night, then."

"Night."

And with that, the room fell silent. The only sound were Darkstalker's soft snores, the occasional rustling of sheets, and quiet breathing.

But Clearsight was still awake.

And she was thinking.

…_I have a duty._

_I'm going to help them. _

_Even if it takes all I've got._

Slowly… a plan began to form.


	15. Chapter 13

The room looked quite interesting bathed in darkness.

After a few minutes of inactivity, Clearsight's eyes began to adjust to the lack of light, slowly starting to make out soft outlines amongst the blackness. As time ticked by, the shapes became clearer and clearer, until she could almost see everything solely through the incredibly weak sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains.

…it was rather pretty. And besides… there was something fascinating about-

_You're procrastinating. _

…damnit.

She didn't voice her frustration; the last thing she needed was for the other people in the room to wake up. What she _did _need was to _concentrate,_ and figure out a way to help the Seawings get over their paranoia.

Though it was entirely possible that their paranoia was justified.

_Why does everything_ _have to be so complicated?_

Still, lamenting the lack of easy solutions wouldn't get her anywhere. She had to act, and she had to do it _now- _before she lost the nerve.

So she closed her eyes and, like she'd done a million times before…

…she lost herself to visions of the future.

The images flipped past her eyes in a spiral, each at a different and ever-changing height like a mystical carousel of some sort. With her emotions this much in flux, it was unwise to try and navigate the timelines.

But she had a duty.

So, gulping in deep breath and leaning further into Darkstalker's comforting embrace, she fell into the maelstrom.

* * *

It was going terribly.

Though, to be perfectly honest, that wasn't much of a surprise. Being involved in a massacre perpetuated by a trusted advisor can really do wonders for paranoia.

At the moment, Clearsight was scoping out what she could say to Indigo to help her relax. She'd tried almost everything she could think of, and had still come up blank.

_Placate her… maybe?_

Groaning, she threw herself back into the mess of timelines. After a split second of searching, she found the one she was interested in.

"_You know, we do have some pretty good security around here." she mentioned, waving her hand dismissively._

_Indigo's eyes narrowed. "So did the party at which the massacre happened."_

She paused the sequence, and retreated out of that future.

_Well, that went horribly. _

Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and dove back into the cesspit.

"_Are you alright?" Clearsight asked, putting a hand on Indigo's shoulder._

"_Not really." the Seawing sighed, shrugging her off. "But what else is new?"_

Again, she retreated.

_Christ on a bike. _

If she could've rubbed her temples in this dreamlike state, she would've. Nothing was panning out; it was all just a whole lot of hogwash. There were only a handful of futures with the correct sequence of events, and those were convoluted enough that any tiny thing could cause them to fall apart.

And _that_ was the main problem; she _wasn't _clairvoyant. All she could do was find the _best _possible timeline, and hope Indigo stuck to her end of the deal.

_Lord… this is going to be such a _massive _mess._

* * *

The Gala had begun in earnest.

The air was perfumed with clashing scents; clouds of rosemary and lavender drifted through the air, almost choking anybody unfortunate enough to take a good whiff, while small bowls of algae resting on marble pedestals provided a strong smell of iodine to _really _round the odour out.

All in all, it smelled like someone had watered a meadow with eutrophicated lake water.

The stink wasn't helped by the incredibly strong deodorants most of the party-goers were wearing.

While the gala proper was spread out over different levels of the palace, such as the palace grounds, the main courtroom, and the gigantic veranda; the most important guests were to stay in the upstairs ballroom.

And boy, _what_ a ballroom it was.

Balustrades that were almost five feet thick, with inlaid spokes of copper or bronze. Fluted pillars that spun up into the heights, meeting the ceiling in explosions of colour that transformed the tips of each structure into lit braziers. Beyond, _so_ far up that the fine details were almost invisible to the naked eye, lay a detailed mosaic depicting the walls of the room as crumbling cinder-blocks, and a destroyed roof with a stunning view of the night sky.

Apparently, the Queen had wanted the ballroom to feel open and free. So, instead of opening a window or installing a skylight, she'd commissioned a painter to come and paint over the ceiling to make it appear as though the roof had fallen away, and everybody inside was dancing among the stars.

It was the most intense form of forced dilapidation Arctic had ever seen.

The ballroom proper was decked out in blue, purple and yellow; shimmering crystals suspended in the air diffused the light from the light spheres so as to create a soft, cosy glow that spread over the entire room. Some of the walls had bioluminescent moss draped across them, which, when combined with the grey walls and impressive painting, made the entire palace look cool and subdued; like a proper outdoors gathering.

Of course, the Queen _could've _saved them _all _a _whole _lot of hassle by just _having the gala OUTSIDE-_

Arctic sighed, and Foeslayer squeezed his hand. Her scales shifted against his, making his heart skip several beats in the process.

It used to unnerve him… Foeslayer seeing him at his weaker points.

Now, he loved her for being there for him.

"_Sorry about that." _he whispered, aware that showing even the slightest signs of anger or frustration here would lead to gigantic problems.

"_I know." _Foeslayer whispered back, avoiding the looks that were being thrown their way. "_It looks a lot like the Dome of Diplomacy."_

If his life had been a movie, there would've been a freeze-frame-record-scratch at that exact instant.

_The… Diplomat's Dome? _He wondered. _Back in the Ice Kingdom?_

"…what?" he asked gently.

"Don't you see it?" she whispered back.

And then he did.

The light orbs were yellowish-orange, like back in the Ice Kingdom. That didn't make sense; the reason they were yellowish-orange in the Ice Kingdom was because they were putting out light as _well _as heat. The ones the Icewings gave to other nations were usually a pure, ethereal white. Someone had had to go and change each of them individually.

The food. Alright, that was probably just a staple of diplomatic parties in general. Still, it was eerily reminiscent of the buffet system back in the Ice Kingdom.

And most importantly, the walls. He couldn't tell how he hadn't noticed it before- perhaps he'd been too preoccupied by the ceiling?- but the walls were covered with white drapes, and had been sprinkled with sandblasted glass; a delicate, not-very-useful cosmetic treatment that involved sprinkling sand over something and then gently blasting it with fire to transform the sand into glass. It did nothing except make the thing a big goddamn mess to clean up… but it _did _make the drapes glisten in the light.

Like a thin sheen of water on top of slowly-melting ice blocks.

"…oh."

"Yeah."

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, and purposefully steering them away from a group of Nightwings that were chattering like hyenas, he spoke.

"…do you think Vigilance did this on purpose?"

"I'm not sure." Foeslayer murmured. Though it was true that the ballroom and the dome bore a striking resemblance… everything here seemed far less harsh. As opposed to bright light orbs casting a harsh orange glow- and even harsher shadows- across a dome filled with enemies, their surroundings were statelier, more… regal. Servers darted everywhere carrying appetizers, and the champagne towers acted as lighthouses for those lost in the thick of the crowd.

The chattering of the group became louder, most of them casting glares their way not unlike a predator scoping out some nice, juicy prey.

"It's deceitful." Arctic mumbled, taking Foeslayer's hand and leading her to a more secluded alcove. At least the Icewings didn't try to hide their distrust and villainy under mountains of hors d'oeuvres.

When he voiced his opinion to Foeslayer, she nodded slowly. "Well, you're not _wrong… _the court has _always _been dishonest and conniving; it's why I left for the military. However-"

"_Hello, dear." _an icy voice dripped from over Arctic's shoulder. It was grating; like nails being dragged down a chalkboard, or a quartet of shrieking gulls playing an out-of-tune violin.

"_How's the day been so far?" _The voice continued, and he turned to find a heinous, eldritch creature hunched over behind him. The sight would drive fear into even the most vigilant of hearts. It didn't help that her baleful glare made her look like the Grim Reaper incarnate.

Foeslayer sighed, hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Hi, Mom. Couldn't you have waited until later to approach us? Preferably until I've gotten more alcohol into me?"

Arctic had quickly learned that despite everything Prudence had done, Foeslayer wasn't going to pass up an opportunity for a conversation. He supposed he could sympathize; she _was _her mother, after all.

And by extension, his mother-in-law.

"_Arctic, you seem a bit feverish." _Prudence smiled, showing off her impeccable teeth. He supposed it would be rude to enchant them to fall out of her mouth.

Behind him, Foeslayer gagged.

"_Is the… _climate…_ not agreeable to you?" _the old crone added, inspecting her nails with the same unhealthy pallor as a disagreeable leper.

"Prudence, I've lived here for almost two decades. You're going to have to try harder than _that."_

For a split second, her façade slipped. Then, like clockwork, she was back on her bullshit.

"_Regardless. I wanted to have a conversation with my daughter. _Alone."

He didn't miss the emphasis on the last word, and stepped out of the alcove, vacating a space that Prudence filled immediately. "Alright. Foeslayer, I'll be over by the punch-"

"Wait."

Foeslayer elbowed her way past her mother, and pulled him in for a kiss.

…embarrassingly, the effect it had on him hadn't changed much over the past eighteen years.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, and put her lips close to his ear.

"_Before, I was about to say that we might be jumping at shadows. Now that my _mom's _here, though… I think she's up to something. Stay on your guard."_

He nodded as the one part of his brain that was still functioning filed that information away for later. Chances were, he'd have a lot of time to mull over it as he stood by the punch bowl and waited for Prudence to leave Foeslayer alone.

Some part of him felt sorry for Foeslayer- there she was, having to fend off her mother as her husband beat a hasty retreat towards the refreshments at the other end of the ballroom. And still, some part of him… envied her. At least she was _speaking _to her mother- though most of their discussions _did _boil down to thinly veiled insults and sometimes outright slurs (she had almost been removed from her position at court after referring to their children as "filthy hybrids" a few years prior).

Meanwhile, his mother was a continent away, sending him and his family death threats.

_Stupid Arctic! _he chastised himself as he finally happened upon the punch bowl. _You're not supposed to just sit here feeling _sorry _for yourself, lord's sake._

Slowly, he turned away from the bowl with his glass, only to find a significant fraction of the partygoers staring back at him. Most of them abruptly turned away as he glared back, but that just led to even more chattering.

The murmured rumbling of the rumour mill in action made him feel a tad sick. There they were, Arachnaeic spinsters weaving falsehoods and half-truths together with such grace that it would be impossible to tell one from the other once they were done.

_And this is what I have to look forward to until Foeslayer comes back._

He took a sip of the punch, allowing his mind to wander. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, honestly.

Their kids were both in here somewhere.

That was interesting.

Darkstalker was… a _dignitary _of some sort, apparently? Arctic didn't know how it worked, but apparently both his son and Clearsight were supposed to help the Seawings out.

Whiteout, on the other hand, was mingling.

…_actually, now that I think about it… _

Arctic cast his signature icy glare across the ballroom, but wasn't able to catch a glimpse of his daughter's signature mess of spikes- which was the easiest way to identify her in a crowd.

…_where _is _she?_

* * *

The night had almost turned disastrous.

Almost.

Whiteout had spent a whole lot of time moving methodically through the chambers the party was taking place in, trying to gauge the overall mood of the partygoers; not to mention keep track of a few key moments she knew would influence the possible futures.

It had been a daunting task, attempting to map almost every single thing that could influence the outcome of the Gala; even moreso once she'd realised what would inevitably happen at the end. However, once she'd gotten over her initial panic, and confirmed that there was _no way _they would be able to avoid what was coming next… she'd simply decided to make a list of all the things that needed to happen in order to confirm the better futures.

She'd tried to lie to herself.

That was where the problems had begun.

Because the second she'd retreated into her mind, expecting to find herself floating among gossamer shreds of darkness that she could wrap herself in like so many satin sheets, she'd happened upon a veritable mountain of bright colours. Pinks fluttered around her like hummingbirds, and she'd wanted to bat them away, but she couldn't. The shimmering blues and purples and indigoes weren't all that bad; but dear lord, the _yellows and whites-_

She'd screamed.

…

…

After almost an hour of deep breathing, trying to get herself to calm down, she'd had to acknowledge the true meaning of what she'd just seen.

Chances were, things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better.

And the realisation that even the _best _future was utterly terrifying had almost made her break down again.

But she persevered.

Not only because she was temporarily trapped in the upper echelons of Nightwing society, surrounded by those who wouldn't hesitate to use her weakness to their own advantage…

…it was also because she had to be strong for everybody around her.

Dark times were coming.

"_Whiteout?" _a voice whispered from beside her, making her jump.

She spun around to find Arctic, sticking his head out from his hiding spot behind a potted fern. Ignoring the odd looks from the people around her, she composed herself.

"Hey, dad. What are you doing in the foliage?"

"Hiding." he grumbled, casting his vengeful gaze across the ballroom. "Your mother got cornered by _her _mother, and I got cornered by a reporter.

"Ouch." she winched, "Have you lost him?"

"_Them._ And yes… I _hope._ Also, I'm getting bored. Mind if I tag along?"

"Sure."

She helped him out from behind the poor plant, which was looking slightly worse for the wear after having been in such close proximity to an Icewing. Muttering under his breath about _stupid libel laws, _Arctic brushed some bits of dried leaf off his shoulder, and they moved off together.

The murky sounds of muffled conversation darted across her field of vision like galloping gazelles, leaving behind luminescent trails. Sometimes, a familiar voice would shimmer into view, fluttering like a will-o-the-wisp before fading into nothing. The sea-green backdrop to the noise- the steady drone of a church organ overlaid with the clinking of glasses and clattering of trays- was splattered with a delightfully dark orange as a child laughed in the distance.

It was almost too much.

"I noticed you looking glum back there." Arctic mentioned offhandedly. "Anything wrong?"

"NO!" Whiteout yelped, using the exact wrong tone and cadence to convince her father that nothing was wrong. Great going.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, absolutely!"

"…either that's sarcasm, or you're a terrible liar."

The purples around the edge of her vision began to close in, slowly shifting towards pink. As Arctic looked towards her, Whiteout began to panic-

The clock chimed ten.

"Gotta go!" she yelled, suddenly back in control of her faculties.

Arctic did a double take. "What?"

"Sorry… I just… I have to go and do something right now."

"But-"

"Like, _now. _Sorry."

Whiteout stepped away just as Arctic latched onto her arm.

"Wait!" he hissed, and for a second… _fear and desperation _flashed in his eyes.

So, she paused.

Arctic inhaled, preparing himself for what he was about to say.

"…Whiteout, I don't know what you're doing… and honestly, it's not my place to tell you what to do anyways."

A small lump forced its way into Whiteout's throat, and she could do nothing but tilt her head in acknowledgement.

"…but I- I _hate _how I can't relate to you. I don't know if its just because you're so much older now, or because of your childhood, or because you don't want to tell me things…"

The lump grew more pronounced, and Whiteout could feel her lip trembling.

Arctic rubbed his face, and continued. "I… just wanted you to know that… despite the mistakes I've made in the past… I'm _here _for you."

She bit her lip and nodded. It wasn't that she didn't believe him- fear could make people do stupid things, and one of the most vivid memories she had from her childhood was the horrid, acrid-green texture of her father's fear. It was more…

"…I know, dad." she responded, leaning into him and trying to find reassurance in the steady rise and fall of his chest, in the deep blues of his heart beating against hers. "It's just… this is something I have to do on my own."

Surprisingly, Arctic didn't push the issue.

"…alright. Just… you can talk to me about anything. And… I'll try to understand."

"…thanks, dad."

He smiled, and squeezed her hand slightly. And despite the fact that her mind was starting to lightly cloud with bright sounds… she could tell that it was being contained.

"I trust you." he concluded with an air of finality, and then made a beeline for the punch bowl.

Whiteout just stayed rooted to the spot, her mind churning with the implications.

…_he trusts me._

She grinned widely, setting off towards her next appointment.

The sea of partygoers parted to reveal a young man with a bowtie and cuffs, fidgeting next to a large ice sculpture. While Whiteout noticed his too-scuffed talons and proud smile, implying that he was the one that had sculpted the statue and attempted to cover up the damage to his nails; she also noticed that most others wouldn't see past his misaligned eyes.

She walked up to him, putting on her best smile and trying to keep eye contact.

"Hey!" she held out a talon for him to shake, suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. "My name's Whiteout!"

The Nightwing grabbed her hand and shook it firmly. "I'm Thoughtful! How are you?"

She grinned.

"I'm doing great. Say, what's up with this sculpture?"

* * *

"…and when I wanted the ice to be cloudier, I just scrubbed it with steel wool! It took a _lot _of time, though, because I only had the one shot."

"…wow."

Whiteout marvelled at the sight before her. The sculpture had been hewn from one massive iceberg, as evidenced by its light green tint; though if Thoughtful was to be believed, it had been embellished by grinding up some bioluminescent moss and sprinkling it over the surface.

The craftsmanship was impeccable; some parts of it were opaque, while others were so clear that the ice looked invisible. The outer edges were embroidered with delicate tally marks that gave the piece an aura of finality… and also acted as a way to tell if the ice was melting too fast.

"You did this in _one go?_" she asked, reaching a talon out towards the sculpture but retracting it at the last second.

Thoughtful grinned, rubbing his neck. "Yeah… though I've had a _lot _of practice. Like… _a lot._"

She nodded. "I'm assuming you can't really paint over this, can you?"

"Oh, you could if you wanted!" he clarified quickly. "The rough parts have the texture of regular paper, and the ice isn't melting _all _that quickly. I just don't paint because… y'know…"

He moved his hand back and forth in front of his wall-eyed stare, and Whiteout grimaced.

"Yeah… I thought it would be insensitive to ask."

"Eh." Thoughtful shrugged, dropping his arm. "It's not that bad- my depth perception's just a bit off, so I prefer to work with what I can feel, y'know?"

"I do." she began, siding up to him. "D'you mind-"

A clock in the distance chimed, and Whiteout had to make a visible effort to avoid tearing her hair out. In the end, she simply settled for groaning loudly.

"Hey, you alright?"

She forced a smile. "Peachy. I just… ummm… could I get a rain check on this conversation?"

Thoughtful blinked. "Ummm… sure!"

"Thanks!" she shook his hand, and began walking away. "I'll be back in under three minutes!"

As she faded from view, Thoughtful looked after her sadly. She'd seemed interested… but he guessed he'd messed something up-

"_YOU'RE AWESOME!" _Whiteout screamed from somewhere in the fray. "_I JUST _REALLY _NEED TO DO THIS! HANG IN THERE!"_

The words took a few seconds to register.

And then Thoughtful smiled.

* * *

It had taken actual hours.

Whenever Clearsight had used the phrase 'it took _hours' _before, it had always been either hyperbolic or used for comedic effect.

This was neither, and that truly _blew her mind._

It had taken her three. Entire. HOURS. To map only the first half of the gala out so everything would go perfectly. And honestly, she'd left a lot up to chance. Further mastery would take days, weeks, months, years, decades; maybe even centuries.

…alright, that last one was an exaggeration. Still, it had been a nightmare.

But at least it was almost over.

They'd woken up about an hour ago, and were now making their way to the Gala; which was being held in a ballroom a few stories above the room the Seawings were staying in. The lead up to the room was pretty spectacular; the corridors were decked out with a red carpet and rose petals, and small pedestals held bowls of water containing miniature floating oil lamps; _diyas, _they were called.

All in all, fairly aesthetically pleasing.

_Unlike _them.

Clearsight hadn't really dressed up at all; her earring was basically all she had on. Fathom hadn't taken his circlet with him when he'd left the Sea Kingdom, so he was wearing nothing but a smile. Darkstalker had donned a fashionable red cravat (that he actually looked a bit cute in), having ditched the aristocratic outfit long ago.

And Indigo had decided to be practical.

"_These bags hold all my weapons and potions." she'd said, batting away Clearsight's hand. "They don't leave my person."_

Of course, while Clearsight wasn't one for fashion herself, she could reasonably conclude that tattered beige saddlebags against purple scales _wasn't _a very good look. Especially since the invitations had claimed that the gala was a 'black tie event'.

Indigo had been adamant, however. She'd even decided to plop Blob atop her head, claiming that he would 'enjoy it'.

So here they were.

Rolling up to the party in _style. _

"Out of the way!" Indigo barked, levelling the spear at the other partygoers as they walked into the ballroom. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she spoke. "I _won't_ hesitate to skewer you like a fish!"

Clearsight, Fathom and Darkstalker were slinking along behind her; the Seawing prince apologizing profusely as they progressed further into the throng of people.

All in all, it was _quite _the entrance.

…_damnit._

Some part of Clearsight was shocked by this turn of events. The rest of her was surprised it had taken this long for things to go south.

Of course, in hindsight, they'd only _just _started their journey.

She'd known that the first few minutes would be the hardest; Indigo would be trying to gauge the security of the venue, scope out possible escape routes, and disembowel any potential enemies. Clearsight would have to- very, _very _slowly and delicately in_deed- _coax the Seawing out of her shell and strike up a conversation.

However_, if_ things went entirely according to plan, they would start talking only two hours into the party! And from there on out, it would only be a month until they developed a full-blown friendship!

That was, if nothing went wrong.

But she was determined.

She could do it.

Inside her head, a few stray brain cells succumbed to the immense pressure, curled up into the foetal position, and began sobbing.

"You alright, Clearsight?" Darkstalker asked from behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"YES!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and flashing him a smile that was as cold and sharp as steel. "Why _wouldn't _I be?"

As she descended into frenzied chuckles that belied an inevitable mental breakdown, Darkstalker frowned.

"Umm… no reason, you just had that _look _in your eyes… anyways, I think me and Fathom are going to hang out on the balcony for a while. Care to join us?"

"No thanks!" she chortled, eyes widening as she took in the reactions of the nobles surrounding them.

"…alright then."

And just like that, Darkstalker was gone.

It wasn't like she hadn't predicted this already.

But… the room still felt emptier without him.

Inhaling deeply, trying to push her rising emotions to the back of her mind, she turned to Indigo.

"So!" she began. "Fathom just went out on to the balcony. Do you think he will be safe?"

Indigo raised a single eyebrow at Clearsight's odd delivery. "D'you have anything against contractions?"

Clearsight blanched.

_Well, fuck. She's already deviated from the script. _

"Ummm… not at all!" she responded woodenly, trying not to tremble. "I like contractions a lot. Do you not?"

Indigo's eyebrow continued its journey up her forehead. "Then why haven't you used a single one in our conversation-"

"Rhetorical question!"

"I wasn't _answering _your question-"

"How do you know if Fathom is safe?"

There was silence for a few seconds, as Indigo stared down the sweating Nightwing. Then the moment passed, and Indigo began scanning the crowd again.

"It was part of my training as a guard." she murmured, suspiciously eyeing the other guests. "I don't know how to describe it… but I'm kind of _attuned _to the world around me, and _especially _my liege. If anybody here harboured ill intentions towards him… let's just say I'd know."

Clearsight gasped, subtly wiping her brow. "That's fascinating!"

"It's also all you're going to get." she growled. "The walls have ears, you know. Rest assured, I'm not psychic, and I can't see the future- so don't expect me to know _everything."_

"…well, while we're being _perfectly _honest here…" Clearsight began, "…I can do something similar."

Indigo quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Do tell."

_Holy shit! I initiated a conversation!_

Trying to ignore the immense tsunami of pride swelling up inside her (_geez, it was just a conversation), _Clearsight told Indigo the basics of her future-sight.

"Interesting…" the Seawing mused, tapping her chin. "Do a lot of Nightwings have these abilities?"

"A few."

"What about Darkstalker?"

_Hurk-_

A part of her- a stupid part, mind you- was tempted to tell Indigo the full extent of Darkstalker's powers. However, she quickly decided that that was better saved for a later date.

"…ummm, he does _technically _have future sight… but he has _no _idea how to use it."

Indigo shrugged. "Nice."

Privately, Clearsight cheered. She'd done it! She'd initiated an _actual _conversation, and it was going _great_-

Indigo suddenly swung her spear out at someone behind Clearsight, causing her to yelp and duck. However, there was no sudden scream- instead, there was just a light _CLINK._

"Showoff." A familiar voice muttered.

Clearsight turned on her heels to find Whiteout standing behind them, avoiding eye contact and tapping her foot impatiently. She was holding two champagne glasses, one of which had the sharp end of a spear resting against it, but it looked like she didn't even notice.

"State your business!" Indigo demanded, drawing the attention of several party goers.

"I need to talk to Clearsight for a second." Whiteout retorted calmly. "I brought champagne as a peace offering."

And Clearsight's mind shattered.

Her blood vessels popped, her lungs contracted, and her vision became tinted with a violent scarlet.

All that time…

All that effort…

All that… _progress…_

…and then WHITEOUT SHOWED UP, AND _RUINED IT ALL!_

Clearsight took the proffered glass of champagne, mostly because she knew that otherwise she'd be wrapping her hands around Whiteout's throat. At the same time, Indigo eyed the glass suspiciously.

"…what is it?" she asked.

"It's-" Whiteout began, but was interrupted by Clearsight gripping her glass so hard it shattered, sending glass and spirits tinkling to the ground like wind chimes in a hurricane. "-champagne."

"…take a sip." the Seawing ordered, crossing her arms.

Whiteout pulled the glass up, causing it to scratch painfully against the tip of the spear, and downed half the glass. "It's perfectly safe. Now, drink up!"

Indigo looked to Clearsight, who sighed and nodded her head. As the Seawing took a tentative sip, Clearsight let herself be led away by Whiteout.

"…_what was that?" _she hissed, trying to keep her cool. Everything had been going so well! And then-

"Clearsight, I understand that you're mad, but pace yourself." Whiteout responded urgently, eyes darting all over the room but never once meeting hers.

"_Well," _the Nightwing responded, speaking through tightly-clenched teeth, "_what. is. it?"_

"It's about Indigo."

Clearsight was just about ready to throttle Whiteout when the girl put up her hands. "Hear me out!"

"I'm listening."

Whiteout inhaled, trying to calm herself. "Alright. You may know this already… but the timelines are a _bit _fucked."

"Oh, really?" the Nightwing snarked.

"Shut up. Anyways, everything that's happened has had a profound effect on Indigo- and if you want things to turn out well, the _best possible move _is to act like it never happened."

"…pardon?"

"Urgh!" Whiteout threw her hands up in frustration. "Alright, you know how Indigo's been acting recently, right?"

"Insane?" Clearsight asked.

Whiteout grimaced. "Yeah, she's been a tad… _murdery… _since the massacre. I mean, it makes sense! Just… keep in mind that she's not _always _like this."

Clearsight tilted her head to the side, letting her jaw hang open and adopting a tone of intense sarcasm. "YOU _DON'T _SAY?"

Whiteout cursed. Clearsight didn't know what she had said, but it was very obviously a curse. "Alright, fine, you go do you. Just keep in mind that Indigo has interests _beyond _keeping Fathom safe and her duties as a guard. Capisce?"

"Yeah, I guess-"

"Good enough for me!"

With that, Whiteout darted off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'stubborn ass' as she passed Clearsight.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then the sounds of the party faded back, and several different partygoers began nonchalantly staring at the walls as Clearsight looked around.

…_meh._

She headed back to Indigo, wondering whether the night had been ruined and trying to make sense of Whiteout's cryptic message.

_It meant nothing! _Her mind scoffed. _Whiteout knows nothing!_

Somehow, she doubted that it was right.

Sliding up next to Indigo, she composed herself. The girl had relocated to stand near a table with a champagne tower, presumably to try and blend in. The fact that she wasn't obstructing anybody's path was also a plus.

"Hey!" Clearsight greeted. "How's the weather in the Sea-"

"Have you had one of these?" Indigo interrupted, gesturing at the now-empty glass of champagne in her hand.

That gave Clearsight pause.

"Ummm…"

"This stuff is _amazing!" _the Seawing insisted, fixing the tower with a smoky, lustful, _smouldering _gaze.

"Yeah…" Clearsight giggled nervously, slipping into a whisper. "…_it'd be great if you stuck to the script I've thought out, though."_

"What was that?" Indigo asked, reaching for another glass.

"Nothing!" Clearsight laughed again, slowly looking around to see if she could spot Darkstalker.

She couldn't.

…_I'm fucked. _

"Umm…"

Whiteout's visage swum in front of her, ghostly lips telling her '_…she has other interests!'_

"…have you heard about the fact that Scavengers are just as intelligent as us?" she asked, crossing her fingers and praying for a bit of luck.

"Hmmm…" Indigo held up a finger as she chugged some more champagne. "…not until you mentioned it _just _now."

"…well, they _are_!"

"Fascinating! This calls for more champagne!"

Clearsight found her smile dropping as Indigo reached for another glass of champagne and _inhaled it_ with vigour.

"You know," the Seawing continued, squinting as the champagne went down, "that _is_ pretty interesting, actually. I've always been of the opinion that Scavengers were smarter than they let on, but…"

She trailed off, grabbing another champagne flute and throwing back about half of it before continuing, "…I never considered them to be at _our _level."

Holding one finger up, she tried to stabilize herself. "Buuut, I suppose research into the topic would be useful."

And with that, she finished off her fourth glass of champagne. As she discarded the glass, she shook her head, causing Blob to wobble. "Wow, that stuff's good!"

Clearsight grinned, trying not to let her concern show. "Hey, maybe we should lay off on the drinks-"

Indigo grabbed another champagne flute, drinking it in one large gulp. As she brought the glass down, she stumbled slightly. Blob clutched her head more tightly, and she righted herself.

"…are you feeling tipsy?"

"No, not really." Indigo slurred, looking around her. "I wonder if they have anything I can feed Blob. He seems restless."

Clearsight looked up at the octopus, who appeared to be glaring at her with his beady little eyes. Those dead orbs… it felt like they were looking right into her soul, telling her that she had messed up big time.

She averted her gaze, feeling her heart rate spike. Blob was… apparently much smarter than he let on.

"…_hey!"_

_What? _

In the few seconds that Clearsight had averted her gaze, Indigo had already wandered off. Panicking slightly, she spun until she spotted her about ten feet away.

"Hey!" the Seawing exclaimed, clumsily bro-fisting a server who looked rather uncomfortable. "Which one of these drinks is the strongest?"

"Vodka." he replied without hesitation, and then his eyes went wide. "Wait, don't-"

Unfortunately, by this point Indigo was already on her first shot. She set it down, and reached for the second just as Clearsight caught up to her.

"I'd advise you not to drink more than that!" the server insisted, obviously not eager to have a drunken Seawing dignitary on his hands.

Indigo paused on her third shot, and looked up at him. Snorting, she finished the shot, and set it down. "Lightweight."

She turned away, took two steps, tripped over her feet and landed on the ground.

* * *

"You can see the stars _really _clearly from here."

"_Yeah." _Darkstalker echoed, wonderment coursing through the softly-spoken word.

Above them, the heavens had been laid bare.

Pinpricks of light were splayed across the darkening sky, so haphazard and random and… _free. _Some clouds drifted across their field of vision, a few dark enough to obstruct the waking stars. In the post-twilight, they looked like Rorschach ink blots; making him wonder if there was any hidden meaning in what he was seeing.

Would other people see the same things he saw in the night?

Beyond the silent plains, the ragged edge of the mountains pushed against the thin fabric of the sky, causing it to bleed a velvety-purple that belied the recent sunset. Just above the great divide between the land and the sky hung the moon, slowly ascending in all her ethereal glory.

They remained silent for a while, drinking in the beauty of the night with a restless, _desperate _sort of abandon; like Saharan travellers gulping down water from an oasis.

Both of them needed this moment.

One more than the other.

"…it's just been _so long." _Fathom whispered, his gaze flittering between different constellations.

Darkstalker knew the answer before he even asked the question.

"…so long since what?"

The Seawing sighed, looking down at the railing he was leaning against; and by extension, the portion of the party that was outdoors. Currently, they had taken refuge on one of the large balconies of the palace; and though just a few yards behind them (and a few stories below) the party raged…

…here, it was calm.

"So long since I could just… not think about everything? Y'know the feeling, right?"

Darkstalker scratched his cheek before he responded. "I do."

"Yeah. It's just… _so_ much has happened and I'm not even sure what to make of it? Like… I haven't even been able to get my emotions in order."

There was a pause, in which Fathom crossed his arms, and resumed gazing wistfully at the sky.

"…do you wanna talk about it?"

Fathom laughed. "It's a long, sordid affair, Darkstalker. I'm sure you're not looking for that sort of story on this here night."

"Try me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, but was almost immediately replaced by his stony countenance. "Don't say I didn't warn you… _friend._"

The odd emphasis on the last word gave Darkstalker pause, and he glanced away. "You don't have to call me that if you're not comfortable."

"But does that matter?"

Suddenly, Fathom removed himself from his position against the railing and walked towards the centre of the balcony, pacing back and forth in front of the massive glass doors that would admit them back into the ballroom. The diffused orange light washed over his skin, giving him an oddly celestial halo.

"Does what I want _matter? _It _sure _hasn't until now."

He held a hand to his forehead, and then continued.

"When I wanted to _not _study under Albatross anymore, it didn't really matter. When I didn't want to attend court on the day of the massacre, that didn't really matter either."

As he became more and more agitated, gesticulating more and more furiously, his scales started flashing. It would've been funny if Darkstalker wasn't so worried.

"When I wanted to get together with Indigo, that didn't really matter. When I didn't want to _not _give up my _entire _life's _work, _that didn't matter. When I didn't want to come here, _that didn't matter either!"_

Fathom groaned, stopping and inhaling deeply. After a few cycles of deep breathing, he seemed to have calmed down, and re-joined Darkstalker at the railing.

"…sorry." he muttered after a long silence.

"…ummm… I don't think you need to apologise." Darkstalker mentioned. "You just did some _serious _self-healing."

Another ghost of a smile glinted across his muzzle for a split second, but was immediately stolen away by the wind.

"Thanks. I just…_ urgh, _I feel so _horrid _for saying this, but… I don't want to be here. Hell, the only reason I'm even _here _right _now _is because my own _sister-" _he punctuated the word with a stomp, "-doesn't trust me. And I _hate _that, because everybody here has been _so _nice to me… nicer than anybody back home, at least."

"That's gotta suck."

"Yeah, and…" he shivered. "it just makes me feel all sorts of slimy."

Darkstalker sighed, breaking eye contact.

"If it helps, I can kinda sympathise."

Fathom glanced over. "How so?"

There was no judgement or disbelief in his tone; just a deep-seated desire to know more. And that, in itself, gave Darkstalker courage.

"…me and my sister are celebrities around here." He stated simply. "Sort of. Basically, since we're the children of the only mixed-tribe couple in the entire Night Kingdom, we were always treated like a spectacle and not actual people."

Fathom shook his head. "Alas."

"It isn't _all _that bad…" Darkstalker continued, "…at least, it _wasn't _once the workload around school started picking up- and at that point, people banded together more out of necessity than anything else."

"So is life."

"Yeah."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…this is going to sound really dismissive," Darkstalker began, "_buuuut…_ you're already here. Why not just… I don't know… spite your sister by having a good time?"

Fathom smiled, but it was sad; like a parent when their child asks if Santa Claus is real, or when they could go and visit the dog that had been sent to a farm upstate.

"If only it was that simple, Darkstalker. As much of a paranoid ass my sister is… I'm not just out to spite her."

The Nightwing in question inhaled, casting his gaze beyond the castle grounds; the rolling meadows were dark silhouettes, with the mountains in the distance acting as a jagged precursor to the deep indigo of the void.

Fathom would continue.

He knew it.

…and after another few seconds of thinking, as the distant sounds of conversation and muted laughter reached their ears… Fathom did.

"I'm… also scared that whatever happened to Albatross is going to happen to me."

…

There it was.

The thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of the night.

The deep, intrinsic fear that was inherent with being an animus.

…it was horrid.

He'd told Clearsight he was alright.

And most days he was.

But most… _wasn't _all.

And there were some days that he woke up in a cold sweat, wondering what he could do.

He could kill every living thing on the planet if he wanted.

He could make the oceans overflow, thus destroying all the land.

He could do so many utterly, utterly horrifying things.

Just with his voice.

Fathom took a deep breath, and Darkstalker abruptly realised that he'd fallen silent for a long time.

"It's actually why I didn't want to go to the party." the Seawing forced out, clenching his eyes shut. "Because… I know it's irrational, but I hate the idea of something happening in there."

That hardly came as a surprise; it had been clear to Darkstalker that Fathom had been feeling mighty uncomfortable inside the ballroom. Still, he swallowed, trying to ignore the fear churning in his stomach. All of this was… it was just too _real. _

"…do you feel scared?" Darkstalker asked, trying to reassure himself.

"Yes." Fathom stammered immediately, holding a shaking talon to his cheek. "_Jesus _I'm terrified. But… I can't stay that way for the rest of my life, can I? Indigo can take care of herself in there. She doesn't need me."

Darkstalker exhaled; shakily, trying to ignore the tears threatening to spring free from his eyes.

"…I'm sure that's not true."

Fathom sighed, scratching his face as his emotions settled. "Yeah, I know… I'm just scared sometimes."

There was a deep, deep silence, filled with the phantoms of words better left unsaid.

"…do you think you guys would be able to kill me if I went rogue?"

Darkstalker's heart dropped right into his stomach.

"I- I know it's _fucked, _and I wish I didn't have to ask, but…"

The Nightwing placed his hand onto Fathom's arm, ignoring the ice in his veins and the feeling of dread in his chest. "We won't let it get to that. I promise."

Fathom's smile, if it was possible, grew even more melancholy. "No offence… but I don't think you guys will be able to stop me if you tried."

And there it was.

An opening.

Darkstalker could, right there and then, dramatically reveal that he was an animus, and that he could help.

And he tried.

He tried so hard to force the words out of his mouth; past uncooperative lips and a leaden tongue, using lungs that felt like they were filling with seawater. He tried so hard to try and impart to the Seawing standing next to him, ducking his face into his chest as protection against the biting wind, that he _wasn't _alone.

"…Fathom?"

"Yeah?"

"…if you don't trust us, trust Indigo."

But he couldn't.

And as he dug his talons into the palm of his hand, almost vibrating in his rage at himself, Fathom laughed. "That's an entirely _separate _mess."

Darkstalker forced a smile (_Is this what Fathom feels like?) _and adopted a knowing expression.

"Girl troubles?" he asked.

"Girl troubles." Fathom confirmed, the smile on his face almost genuine.

…dear lord, it was _so _tempting to fall back into the melancholy, linoleum-lifeless conversation they'd been having. Because it was _so _addicting to talk to someone who understood the _terror_ of being an all-powerful god that could destroy the world with a single wish.

But for both their sakes, he was going to put on a brave face, and continue.

"No offence," he lilted, adopting a slightly teasing cadence, "but Indigo doesn't seem the type."

The smile on Fathom's face slipped a bit, replaced with a look reserved for children who 'wouldn't understand'. "Yeah… don't let her current attitude fool you. Catch her on a good day, and she's just the goofiest, most adorable cinnamon roll-"

"That's nice." Darkstalker mused, wondering if Clearsight and Indigo could be friends.

"-that could kill you with no hesitation whatsoever."

"…that's _less _nice."

"Yeah." Fathom chuckled. "She's a whiz at martial arts, swordsmanship and setting up deadly traps. Though that last one is more of a… _recent _skill."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she… she volunteered to be sent away with me, since nobody else wanted to protect an animus, and we were already… _friends_."

Again, the emphasis on the last word made Darkstalker realise that there was something far greater beneath the surface.

He elected to ignore it.

"How long ago did she start learning?"

"Oh, as a kid. She had five brothers."

"So, they taught her to fight?"

Fathom burst out laughing.

It was loud, raucous laughter; and unlike the laughter he and Clearsight shared often, Darkstalker had the uncomfortable feeling that Fathom was laughing _at _him, not _with _him. Though it wasn't that he wanted to compare Fathom to his girlfriend; she was his _girlfriend, _after all, and Fathom wasn't, and besides, he wasn't attracted to guys- _or was he?- _and _besides, _he'd only met Fathom that morning and _didn't _think he was cute-

At this point, Darkstalker realised that his train of thought had run astray, and decided to completely abandon it and start over.

So; Fathom burst out laughing.

And kept laughing, for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, leaving Darkstalker awkwardly standing there. After the first thirty seconds, he kneeled over, hitting the railing with his fists as he struggled to maintain his composure. After the first minute, he was clutching his sides from laughing too hard. After another _full minute _had passed, he had calmed down enough to spit out some words.

"You-" the Seawing stammered in between guffaws, "-you didn't tell me you were a _comedian!_"

He resumed laughing, almost rolling on the floor now. Darkstalker groaned; though he was loathe to admit it, he hated the feeling of Fathom laughing at him. He didn't get why. It _definitely _wasn't because Fathom was cute. It-

"_Lord…" _Fathom wheezed, picking himself up from where he'd almost collapsed. "Don't let her hear that, or she'll have your intestines out."

"…I don't get it."

"Her youngest brother was constantly bullied for having… I _guess_ your equivalent of a lisp, the second-to-youngest was bullied for liking boys as well as girls, the one older than him was bullied for being a nerd, the next one up was bullied for being trans, and the eldest- just a year younger than her- was bullied for being too effeminate. She grew up protecting every single one of them; and countless others, too."

"…oh."

And for a few seconds after Fathom had stopped talking, Darkstalker was so busy comparing Indigo to his own sister, who had basically sacrificed her childhood for his happiness, that he'd almost missed Fathom turning aside and whispering "…_including me."_

Almost.

"Oh, did she?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and definitely _not _missing the slightly reddish tinge to Fathom's cheeks.

"A bit, yeah." the Seawing smiled sheepishly. "She used to tease me a lot for liking nothing but books… but when it mattered, she had my back."

"She sounds like a pretty cool gal." Darkstalker concluded, grinning lightly.

Fathom laughed- a holdover from his previous fit that was actually a bit endearing.

"That she is. Hey, you wanna head back inside?"

"…are you sure?"

"Yep. Won't help to avoid the party any longer, will it? Besides, it is _cold _out here."

Darkstalker grinned back, taking Fathom's hand in an _entirely platonic _gesture.

"Alright. Let's go!"

* * *

As it turned out, Indigo could _really _hold her drink.

Besides the one minor mishap (which had been attributed to a too-slippery bit of floor), she'd been remarkably well-behaved for someone who'd just consumed at least a litre of hard alcohol.

The only explanation Clearsight had gotten so far was that it was 'a Seawing thing', which- no offense- wasn't much of an explanation at all.

Still; she wasn't complaining. They were having fun.

_Boy, _were they having fun.

Right now, she and Indigo were standing in a small crowd that had assembled near a makeshift stage on the far end of the ballroom. Apparently, this small bit of the room was going to be used as a dance floor.

Though, as Indigo had already warned her, the music wasn't going to be all that lively.

Speaking of the Seawing; she was holding up pretty well. Her face was windswept and flushed, but considering the vodka-consumption and temperature outside, that was to be expected.

"By the way!" Indigo shouted over the noise of the crowd. "I should point out that the more I drink, the closer my state of mind comes to dropping off like a cliff!"

"I don't know how to put those words together!" Clearsight shouted back.

Then suddenly- everything went quiet.

…

Out of the crowd emerged a sprightly young dragon with white gloves and cufflinks. After slicking back his spikes and casting one last fruitive glance at the assembled dragons, he darted up onto the stage and took his place at the harpsichord.

The ditty his well-trimmed talons hammered out sounded distinctly pedestrian; memorable only in how forgettable it was. Clearsight was pretty sure she'd heard it a billion times before… but for the life of her couldn't remember where.

"Have you ever heard anything like it?" she asked, mostly for lack of anything else to say.

"It's Bach." Indigo responded immediately. "Dull as all hell, but for some reason nobles swoon whenever they hear it."

The Nightwing blinked. "Oh."

"No offense to the performer, of course." Indigo continued, still drinking in every single detail of the ballroom. "He's got rhythm to spare, I can tell you that right now."

Now that it had been pointed out to her, Clearsight could tell that the dragon was tapping along to the song; bobbing his head in time with some of the ostinatos, and subtly flicking his wrist to add some much-needed flair to the piece.

"But I think he'd be more suited to jazz or blues. I mean, I can almost imagine it right now! Do you think they do requests?"

Once more, Clearsight found herself at a loss for words.

Thankfully, Indigo could speak for both of them.

"Some sprightly young thing in a tight-fitting dress going ham on the cello, brass backing to the whole thing, a vocalist belting out a song about wine and past lovers; sounds like paradise on earth, doesn't it?"

At this point, Indigo had thrown her arms into the air, laughing as she twirled in time with some imagined ragtime number. And honestly, her enthusiasm was contagious; before she knew it, Clearsight had been swept up into the Seawing's wild dance.

There was an odd grace about it; something about how, despite Indigo's inebriated state, she appeared to be in complete control. They spun through the slow-moving crowds, almost in time with the music itself.

"Look closely!" Indigo shouted over the din of general conversation. "He _wants _to go faster, but he's holding back!"

Once more, she was right on the money; the kid was clearly having to pace himself, subconsciously adding a few hits that almost sounded rhythmic. As Clearsight continued watching, the performer kept flashing in and out of her field of vision; sometimes replaced with a sculpture, or a view of the ceiling, or an old teacher-

_An old teacher?_

As Indigo continued pulling her along, Clearsight did a double take and found that she wasn't seeing things- the dragon they'd just passed had been one of her old English professors.

_Small world, I suppose. _She thought as the number came to an end with very little fanfare. She'd expected at least a crescendo of some sort… but she supposed it wasn't going to happen.

With impeccable form, Indigo swung the two of them into a corner alcove, away from the rest of the party. They collapsed onto opposite sides of the alcove, trying to catch their breaths and stop the giggles from escaping.

Eventually, both of them calmed down enough to settle into a comfortable silence, watching the stage. According to Indigo, it was going to get _very _interesting _very _soon.

The harpsichordist was soon joined by a string ensemble and- was that a harp?- onstage. Together, they began playing a semi-familiar piece of music.

Next to her, Indigo groaned.

"Waltz of the Flowers." she grumbled. "Of course. They couldn't have been _creative, _could they?"

"What do you mean?" Clearsight asked, still breathless from all the excitement.

"This piece is _so _overused," Indigo complained, gesturing towards the stage, "I'm not even kidding, you're going to recognise it in three… two…"

Suddenly, a strings lick wafted through the dense air, and Clearsight winced, for she'd just realised why the song sounded familiar.

Indigo nodded sagely. "It's been played at _literally _every single formal gathering I've ever been to. I mean, couldn't they have chosen something- _anything- _else?"

Clearsight sighed. "Well, at least the harpist seems to be getting into it."

Indigo frowned. "There isn't a harpist on stage."

"Wait, but-"

"Did you mean a lyrist?"

"…maybe?"

The Seawing giggled- a sound that soothed Clearsight's ears far better than the horrendous music. "The thing on stage right now is a lyre. You may _think _that a lyre and a harp are the same thing… until you try dragging around an actual harp that's both bigger and heavier than you."

Clearsight ducked her head, trying to stifle her laughter. "Are you speaking from experience?"

The expression on Indigo's face told her everything she needed to know.

* * *

Arctic was confused.

Half an hour ago, he'd been cornered by reporters while letting Foeslayer talk to her mother. So, in a frankly _marvellous _display of social ineptitude, he'd decided to tag along with his daughter. Who'd had to go and do something.

Which was, ostensibly, talking to a cross-eyed sculptor.

"Whiteout?" he asked, walking up behind her with punch in hand. He could take a hint- if she didn't want him here, he would leave. However, that didn't seem to be the case.

She turned around, grinning. "Hey, dad! Meet Thoughtful!"

The Nightwing waved, mirroring his daughter's smile. "Hello, Mister Arctic!"

"No need to be so formal." Arctic began, already slipping back into his princely persona and hating it. "We're all friends here. Or at least, I _hope _we are."

"Oh, we _definitely _are." Thoughtful chortled, at the same time that Whiteout gasped.

"Dad, have you seen this sculpture?"

She gestured towards the towering behemoth of ice and moss, looking for all the world like a to-scale model of the fabled hanging gardens of Babylon, if the gardens had been built underwater just off the North coast of the continent.

"That's nice!" he stated, trying to avoid any specifics. "What is it?"

"It's an abstract!" Thoughtful stated proudly as Whiteout took another longing glance at it. "My magna carta, so to speak."

"…that's nice!" Arctic responded, earning a glare from his daughter.

Thoughtful frowned. "Doesn't it… like… evoke an emotion?"

"…it definitely evokes _something."_

"…nothing?" Thoughtful asked as Whiteout frowned. "Really?"

Arctic sighed, dropping out of his persona. "Sorry, kids. My wife was always the more artsy one; I just kinda… followed her guise? Ummm… my point is not to get disheartened because some podgy old man can't understand your sculpture."

"Hey!" A voice called from behind him, and he turned to find Foeslayer, grinning widely as she took his hand. "That's _my _husband you're calling podgy!"

"Hello." He responded, smiling warmly. "I assume your conversation with your mother went well?"

"…maybe?" she shrugged. "I mean, she was as much of a bitch as she usually is, _buuut… _she _did _do something nice."

"And what was that?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You'll see. Anyways, what's this?"

Thoughtful and Whiteout had both been watching the exchange with an odd fascination, and when Foeslayer's attention shifted, they jumped into action.

"It's an abstract sculpture!" They both cheered simultaneously.

"…interesting…" Foeslayer mused, tapping her forefinger against her chin as her brow creased. "Any specific interpretation you guys prefer?"

Thoughtful paused, glancing towards Whiteout for a split second before his lips parted.

"Well, I _personally _wanted to make it a statement about not fitting in. Like," he gestured to the elaborate labyrinth of Escheresque rectangular pipes and delicate, sopping moss. "how all of the materials used here are unfamiliar and foreign but still useful, and how… ummm… the structure itself is unlike contemporary Nightwing architecture, with straight edges and little to no curves."

Whiteout grinned, leaning forward towards the sculpture. "I actually hadn't noticed that before- the traditional vaulted ceilings are missing!"

Thoughtful smiled back at her, wings fluttering subtly in barely-contained excitement. "Yeah. You'll notice that despite the small, confined spaces, the clear ice doesn't let it feel claustrophobic."

"To symbolise an open heart? Or free expression of emotionality?"

"…let's go with both!"

"Alright, I'm seeing what you mean now." Arctic whistled appreciatively. "I don't know how I missed all of that… maybe it's because I'm so used to seeing ice everywhere?"

While Foeslayer and Whiteout simply nodded in agreement, Thoughtful sucked in a deep breath as his eyes filled with- if it was possible- even _more_ excitement.

"I'd never even considered that!" he gasped, tenting his fingers. "How different it would be for- um, no offense, but- Icewings. That's so _fascinating!"_

As Arctic tried to get in a word edgewise about how he didn't mind, Thoughtful appeared to have another epiphany.

"Oh! OH! I simply must get this down on paper- ummm… Whiteout, could I bother you to come with me to my chambers? O-only to write this somewhere I can remember, of course."

Whiteout smiled, took his hand, and walked off, leaving Arctic and Foeslayer behind.

"…"

"…"

"…did that kid just put the moves on our daughter?"

"…he _did_."

"…more importantly- did I, the menacing, overprotective father figure, just _let_ him?"

"…you _did_."

"…"

And with that, Arctic finished his punch, and left to get more.

* * *

Everything was going wrong, and Clearsight wouldn't have it any other way.

At this point in the night, they were so completely off-script that nothing less than a complete rewrite could salvage her original plan.

But honestly, she didn't want to.

Because she was having fun, despite the fact that she was having to watch as Indigo downed champagne like water. The situation wasn't helped by how the Seawing kept pronouncing 'champagne' like 'lasagne'.

Her inner linguist screamed in agony each time the other girl opened her mouth.

Though, to be fair, Indigo's countryisms were pretty endearing even at the worst of times. And for some reason, now that she was nice and plastered and _not _clutching a deadly weapon to her chest like a teddy bear…

…she was actually a bit adorkable.

"…an' tha's how Blob-" the inebriated Seawing drawled, gesturing to the creature sitting atop her head. "-came ta be! One'a the _best _days o' mah life, I'll tell ya _that _for _free_!"

It would help if she wasn't slurring her words so much she was practically incomprehensible.

"Say, wha's wit' ta bigness?"

"What?"

"Ta bigness!"

"What?"

Indigo pulled her close, pressing her lips against Clearsight's ear. "Ta bigness!"

The Nightwing stumbled backwards, blushing furiously. "Dude, I can hear you- I just can't understand!"

"Okay, le's be 'onest-" Indigo mumbled, her accent a lot stronger now that she was drunk. "'m pro'lly makin' a fool of mahself, a… a _right ol' _fool, da's right, ain't it?"

Clearsight reached out an arm to stabilise her. "I understood about a quarter of those words _individually._"

The Seawing grumbled a few profanities under her breath, pulling her away from the crowd. Clearsight almost knocked over a large buffet table laden with fruits and a chocolate fountain before Indigo pulled her back, giving her a second to stabilize before dragging her underneath the table.

It took Clearsight about ten whole seconds to process what had happened.

It took another ten seconds for her to notice that Indigo was trying to get her attention.

"What?" she asked, grateful for the lack of noise.

"Can ya hear me?" Indigo asked, still shouting.

"Yes!"

"Super."

There was silence for a few more seconds. Somewhere, someone dropped a glass and a few people gasped.

"…didn't you have something to say?" Clearsight asked.

Indigo thought on it. "Ah forgot. Wha' were _you _askin' me?"

"Was I asking you something?"

"Yeah."

"…I _think _we were talking about Fathom."

"What about 'im?"

"Ummm… how'd the two of you meet?"

"…I _think _it was at a track meet."

"Wait, he runs?"

"Sometimes, yea. Doesn't seem the type, does 'e?"

"Well, he _is_ a bit-"

"Pudgy?"

"…I was going to say Rubenesque."

Indigo chortled. "Hey, ain't no shame in that! 'e just doesn't get _all _tha' much exercise cooped up in the palace, y'know? Besides, just cuz he's got a bit o' weight around the hips doesn't mean he ain't handsome."

"True."

Another glass of champagne down. "Don't get me wrong, though- e's always been the pen, an' ah've always been the sword. It's jus'… fun, y'know? Exercisin' with 'im? Seeing him moan about running or doing push-ups and such. Besides, nothin's gunna beat the feeling of wind rushing through your spikes as ya pump ya muscles for all they're worth… y'know?"

"I've never been the exercising type, but I'll take your word for it."

The Seawing grinned. "Ah'm not gonna lie- if ya decide to start exercisin', you're gonna want to die at the end'a each day. It's once ya _keep at it…"_

She trailed off, punching her fist to articulate her point. Oddly enough, Clearsight understood.

"What was he doing at a track meet?"

"Tryna get away from the palace. An admirable missive, if ah do say so mahself."

Clearsight blinked. For about half a sentence, Indigo had sounded like a royal with that accent. Seeing this, the Seawing grinned.

"He taught me that, actually." she giggled. "Ta disguise mah accent, y'know?"

"…not really?"

"Eh. Makes sense; y'all ain't really the judgemental type."

"What's judgement got to do with it?"

Indigo grimaced. "Ya don' know all that much 'bout the Sea Kingdom, d'you?"

"…not really? Was that a faux pas?"

"Nah, it's just… the castle's filled with nobles, an' they ain't exactly all that friendly towards… the security."

Clearsight winced. "Ah. Did you have to deal with prissy royalty?"

Indigo's mouth twisted into a cruel grin. "Well, ya opened that can'o'worms, not me."

The Nightwing blinked. "Wha-"

"They're fuckin' assholes. Absolutely terrible people, with terrible taste, an' horrid sensibilities. Espescially Fathom's sister."

"…oh my-"

"An' can ah be crude?" Upon seeing Clearsight nod, Indigo continued. "She's a fuckin' tosser, she is. Ah mean, d'you _know _what she did to Fathom?"

When Clearsight shook her head, Indigo's face twisted into a scowl. "Afta the massacre, she decided she couldn't trust 'im, and _kicked him out."_

Indigo growled, getting more animated. "AH mean, _imagine _fackin'… _abandonin' _ya mate over there-" she gestured vaguely, "-cuz he was an animus."

Clearsight froze up.

_She knows Darkstalker's an animus?_

Her heart skipped an entire beat as she panicked, and it must've shown on her face, because Indigo suddenly wrapped her in a _really _powerful hug.

"Hey, you a'ight?" she asked, her warm, alcohol-heavy breath tickling Clearsight's ear. The proximity made her very aware of the strong, tangy smell of sea salt on the Seawing, and the rippling muscles that made Indigo's entire body tight and lithe, and how alluring-

_oh, fuck._

Clearsight drew back, fanning her face to cover her intense blush. "Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Was it somethin' ah said?" Indigo slurred, concern twinkling in her eyes as she _took Clearsight's hand, OH MY-_

At this point, Clearsight's brain went on full-on lockdown, drowning out the entire world around her. About a quarter of her mental reserves were focused on answering Indigo's question in a suitably unsuspicious way that _wouldn't _reveal Darkstalker's animus status; and the other three quarters were running in circles screaming _HOT PERSON! WHAT DO WE DO?_

And given all these confounding variables, it was a small miracle that the small part of Clearsight's brain that wasn't on fire managed to spit out _something_.

"How did you know me and Darkstalker were dating?"

"Datin'?" Indigo drew back, putting a hand on her chest. "Wha'ddya mean?"

All of Clearsight's panic was immediately replaced by confusion, chased up by a small dash of panic as her mind struggled to remember where she'd gotten that from. "…ummm… you called him my 'mate?'"

Indigo's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, mah bad. 'Mate' where ah come from 's slang for 'buddy'. I mean, if I'd have known, I would've _never _put the moves on ya!"

"Oh!" Clearsight felt a small modicum of relief that it had all just been a misunderstanding. Then her brain caught up with what Indigo had just said. "Wait, you were flirting with me?"

"Yup." Indigo winked sultrily, the hospitality and ruggedness of her accent making her even more enticing. "Ah'm a _very _confident drunk."

"…I see." Clearsight mused, trying to hide her rapidly beating heart. After a second, she realised that Indigo was giving her a questioning look. "And you don't care that I'm a girl?"

"Should I?"

"Not really. I was just clarifying."

Indigo sighed. "Eh. Fair enough. Though it's a _damn_ shame the cute ones're always taken, amirite?"

"…thank you for the compliment. If it was one, that is."

"It was. Darkstalker's a lucky guy. He's pretty cute too… but you're _feisty_."

"What?"

"Well, yeah!" Indigo maintained. "You stared down the sharp end of a sword that had _me _at the other end, and you kept your composure."

"…I was just doing the right thing. You guys were scared, and I wanted to help."

Indigo swooned exaggeratedly, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "Oh, lawd Jesus; selfless _and _stunning? You're a package deal!"

Clearsight grinned, trying to hide her blush.

"Seriously, though." Indigo continued, dropping her pose. "Ah _really _appreciate everything you've done so far. Thanks."

"You're welcome." the Nightwing responded, feeling a deep sense of calm settle into her bones as her heart rate returned to manageable levels.

Indigo grabbed another glass. "Thanks for the alcohol, too. Without it, I'd never 'ave opened up 'bout all this. I'd pro'lly still be covering Fathom's ass."

"…do you not like it?"

"A-ta-ta!" Indigo tutted, holding a talon to Clearsight's lips. "Ah like it perfectly fine- Fathom's exemplary company, and ah volunteered for it anyways. He jus' doesn't need me steppin' on his tail twenty-four-seven!"

"Really?"

Indigo sighed, her brow creasing as her lips pressed into a thin line.

"…it can't be tha' hard ta imagine ah'm not _all business, _can it?"

Immediately, Clearsight's hands flew to her mouth. "Holy! Umm… I didn't mean it that way-"

"No offense, but ya absolutely did."

"Yeah, that was a pretty weak retort." Clearsight admitted, burning a hole into the ground with her stare. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"It's a'ight. But… like… ah'm not just a guard. It's what ah'm most comfy as, but… ah'm other stuff too."

Clearsight reached out to rest her hand on Indigo's shoulder. "I know. And I'm sorry for assuming otherwise. It's just…"

"Ah've been paranoid as fuck?" Indigo asked, looking up. "Y'all don't gotta dance 'round the issue with me. I know what ah've been up to."

She looked away, fiddling with a bit of trash someone had tossed underneath the table.

"Ah jus'… worry, y'know. He's all ah got these days. And ah came so close to losin' him…"

"…I'm sorry." Clearsight repeated, as though that would make everything alright.

"Not ya fault." Indigo grinned. "But thanks for the sentiment."

They remained silent for a long second, trying to regain the tempo of the conversation. Eventually, Indigo sighed and sat back.

"Ya know, ever since ah was a kid, ah've been like this? The protector, ah mean. And Fathom coaxed me outa mah shell, y'know? He helped me discover other stuff ah like, and… he was a good sport 'bout it all to boot."

Indigo sighed, turning to the middle distance.

"E's a great catch. It's a wonder he hasn't found a date."

Clearsight blinked. "Don't you fancy him?"

"_Do _I?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Darn, girl, ah couldn't be clearer!"

"Then…" Clearsight waved her hands about, trying to articulate the obvious solution to this predicament.

Indigo chuckled, punching her in the shoulder. "Ah, listen; take me somewhere private with food and booze and chocolate, and I'll tell you the great big situation with me and him. For now, let's just talk about _your _prospects, eh?"

With that, she threw her head back, gloriously chugging some more champagne.

And Clearsight's mind seized up.

"…Clearsight?"

Her brain cells were probably tearing their spikes out with frustration. She could almost hear one of them screaming at her from the depths of her buffering mind.

…_say SOMETHING, GODDAMNIT!_

"Clearsight!" Indigo asked, oblivious to the girl's predicament. "You a'ight in there?"

She spluttered, but was unable to produce words. But eventually, some circuitry in her brain connected, and she realised something she'd been missing.

"H-hey," she stammered finally, "shouldn't we check on the boys?"

Indigo took a long look at her, shrugged, and lifted the tablecloth so they could look across the ballroom before leaving their musty sanctuary. Not a moment too soon, either- the dust motes were becoming a bit too much to handle.

The two boys were on the other side of the ballroom, chatting with one another. As Clearsight watched, Darkstalker excused himself momentarily, leaving Fathom alone.

"W-we should go keep Fathom company!" she mentioned, finally back in her comfort zone.

"Yeah." Indigo agreed, already turning towards him as she grabbed a glass from a try and almost toppled the waiter. "Let's-"

The Seawing stopped, eyes focused on the stage.

Clearsight followed her gaze, wondering what had caught her eye. There was now an entire string and wind ensemble on stage, and a wild-spiked Nightwing was standing at the forefront. Despite his lack of baton, it was clear that he was the conductor.

Indigo's jaw dropped halfway to the ground.

"…Indigo?" Clearsight asked, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"_It's Gergiev!" _the Seawing whispered back, almost squealing with glee. Her fists were bunched up, and she was bouncing with excitement.

"_You know him?" _

"_Know him?" _she scoffed, somehow still managing to remain elated. "_I _worship _him. He came to perform in the Sea Kingdom once, and I managed to get in, and it was the most magical night of my life!"_

Clearsight beamed- if Indigo was this enamoured, she could give him a go. _"What did they play?"_

Indigo smiled sheepishly. "_I wouldn't know. I was escorted out halfway through the first movement for gasping too loudly."_

A deep hush fell over the crowd. The conductor had his head bowed, almost in reverence of the pure majesty and talent of the orchestra assembled before him. Beside her, Indigo showed her reverence in a rather different way- jumping up and down, almost unable to keep her excitement contained.

Suddenly, the conductor nodded. A snare player, almost impossibly quiet, began tapping out a staccato beat.

Indigo keeled over, vibrating with joy.

"_They're performing Bolero!"_

The gossamer lilt of a clarinet spilled over the backing, giving the composition even more depth. Soon, it was joined by soft plucks on the string instruments, and a second clarinet providing a bit of percussion. The Nightwing- _Gergiev, his name was? - _conducted with impeccable grace, his skilled fingers dancing through the air.

It was magical.

But as the melody danced along, and more and more instruments joining into the fray, Clearsight found herself grinning less because of the music and more because of the way Indigo was reacting to it. The Seawing's eyes followed the musicians; worshipping the tuba players fumbling with their heavy brass instruments and the violinists with their bows darting like schools of fish.

After a few seconds, Clearsight noticed something else-Indigo's lips were moving in time with the melody. Apparently, she was humming along.

_And _she was bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, so impossibly gleeful that it was a wonder she hadn't taken to the air to celebrate. It seemed like the Seawing was about thirty seconds away from bursting into a high-energy musical number about the wonderfulness of the piece.

It was _way _too adorable.

…and it reminded her of Darkstalker.

_Damn, _she wondered, looking around. _Where'd he run off to?_

A horn of some sort began playing at the same time as a trumpet; one following the snare, the other foraying into the depths of the melody. Next to her, Indigo's eyes sparkled.

"_It's so good!"_

Clearsight's face split into a wide smile- how could it _not? _

And then the spark faltered.

And Indigo changed.

It was uncanny. The girl straightened suddenly, hawk-like eyes narrowing as her muscles tensed and her grip on her spear tightened. With massive amounts of tension causing the tendons in her neck to stand out, she looked around the room.

The orchestra played on, slowly building over time, but she paid it no heed.

"…Indi-"

"Something's coming." she growled, and took off into the throng without further explanation.

…_shit._

* * *

Fathom missed Indigo.

He didn't _always _want her by his side- they both needed their personal space, of course.

But… right now… he missed her.

Darkstalker and him had tried to locate the girls, but had been unable to. Either they'd run off to some remote corner of the palace, or they didn't want to be found. Regardless, Fathom had decided to simply stick with the precocious Nightwing.

Darkstalker was actually rather wonderful for casual conversation- especially on topics of poetry and art.

Right now, he'd gone to see if he could have a short discussion with his sister- see what she was up to and such. He'd offered to take Fathom along, but he'd politely declined. The memory of what his sibling had done to him was still fresh on his mind…

"Fathom!"

He turned to find Indigo racing across the ballroom, heading towards him.

…_am I dreaming?_

As she ran towards him, he noticed the small things; her lithe form rippling like satin sheets in the wind, her smooth skin glistening with sweat somehow making her even more attractive, and her stardust-sprinkled eyes shimmering as she muscled her way past a noblewoman, her lush, kissable lips moving-

"Yeah, I don't care." she interrupted, grabbing Fathom and pulling him closer while simultaneously putting her back against the wall; a clever move, since now she didn't have to worry about being jumped from behind. He'd-

Fathom hesitated. _Wait. _

"…was I speaking out loud?" he asked, a blush slowly spreading across his face. Indigo simply sighed.

"If it's any consolidation, I liked the bit about my stardust-sprinkled eyes."

As Fathom wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment, Clearsight burst through the crowd, gasping for breath.

"What-" she panted, hunched over with her hands on her knees. "-was that?"

"_That-" _Indigo gestured over her shoulder at her charge. "-was Fathom saying some _utterly _mortifying things. But what else is new."

As the Seawing prince's cheeks burned with an intensity rivalling even the sun, Clearsight sighed. "Not that. Why'd you run away?"

"Yeah, that." Indigo began, almost regretfully. "Something's coming, and I'm fairly certain it's not good."

With how Indigo was saying it, one would assume that it was no big deal. However, her concern was thoroughly belied through her defensive stature.

Also, the fact that she was brandishing her spear.

"Wait, what?" Fathom asked, the blush slowly fading.

Indigo groaned. "Alright, lemme clarify. I don't know what or who it is, but I know that it's not supposed to be here. And no offense, but I'm not taking any chances."

As Clearsight inhaled some punch, spluttering as she drank too much, Fathom fell back into his role as the protected. "I'm assuming you want us to go for the balcony if things go to shit?"

"Correct. If the balcony is where they're entering from, try hiding behind those giant banners; they're too thick for anybody to notice you're behind them. Worst comes to worst, you guys will escape using animus magic, and pray that word doesn't get back to your sister."

"…understood."

"Also, take Blob."

Clearsight frowned, wiping the punch off her muzzle. "Why?"

"If I go out in a blaze of glory, I'd prefer it for Blob to make it out with Fathom."

There was silence, in which Clearsight considered the answer, and then poured herself some more punch.

"Wow. Way to kill the fucking mood."

"It's a serious situation." Indigo scowled. "Or have you already forgotten what happened at the _last _party we were at?"

"Alright, point taken."

Fathom leaned back against the wall, feeling the rounded glass granules digging into his spine. Now that the buzz of the conversation had died down, it seemed like the true weight of the situation was hitting him head-on.

"…Indigo, is it really going to be like the party?"

Indigo winced, momentarily setting her spear aside so she could take Fathom's hand in both of hers. "I might've gone too far there. It's nowhere near as bad… and this is just a safety precaution."

He looked up, trying to gauge her emotions. "And you're _not _just saying that to make me feel better?"

She grinned. "You're _way _too smart to fall for that."

Out of the throng of partygoers, Darkstalker emerged. "Hey, guys-"

Purely out of instinct, Indigo grabbed the nearest vaguely spear-shaped object and brandished it in the general direction of his voice.

"Stay back." she growled. "Or I _will _stab someone!"

A pregnant pause ensued; one which was filled by the party that continued to rage with no consideration for the standoff going on in one corner.

"…with _what?" _Darkstalker asked, confused and concerned. "The fucking baguette you're holding?"

Indigo brought the bread she had just been wielding to her muzzle, taking a bite.

"…who _are _you?" she countered, focusing on the Nightwing.

He sighed, wings and shoulders drooping. "I'm Darkstalker. Your guide, remember?"

"…"

"…"

"…as it turns out, I'm considerably more plastered than I thought I was." Indigo grinned sheepishly. "Come on over, dear dignitary."

Both Clearsight and Fathom sighed in relief, thankful that they wouldn't have to save Darkstalker- because they didn't have a chance in _hell _against Indigo.

Then, just as Darkstalker was passing Indigo, she flipped him over her shoulder. As he landed hard on the marble floor, she held the sharp edge of the crispy pastry to his neck.

Behind her, Fathom facepalmed.

"And for the record," Indigo sang, "I could fucking kill you with a _breadstick _if I wanted to."

With that, she let him go, stuffed the baguette into her saddlebag, and adopted a defensive posture with her spear.

"…Jesus." Darkstalker groaned through clenched teeth, hobbling to his feet and shooting Indigo a vengeful glare. "I think she broke my spine."

"Oh, _please_." Fathom scoffed. "You got off easy."

"Really? I find that hard to believe-"

"She once fed a man his own fist."

"…"

"…"

"…remind me to never _ever _make her angry."

"I don't think you need a reminder."

"Umm…" Clearsight interrupted, pointing towards one corner of the room. "What's happening over there?"

Indigo cursed. A noble fainted, and several other dropped their wineglasses. One went so far as to plug his ears, lest the foul language taint them further.

"Alright, everybody behind me!" she yelled, and the trio were quick to comply. As _Bolero _climaxed, the commotion grew louder.

And with that, it was over.

Everything fell silent.

…

…

…

Darkstalker peeked out from over Indigo's shoulder, and squinted at the crowd.

"Hey, is that my dad?"

* * *

There was a commotion.

…

He was perfectly happy where he was standing. Thoughtful and Whiteout had returned momentarily, and had had a jolly discourse with him and his wife. After a while, Darkstalker had come over to chat with Whiteout, and had become involved in the discussion himself.

He wished he could've spent the rest of the night with his family and Thoughtful, simply talking.

But, he couldn't ignore the commotion.

Darkstalker had left eventually, something about needing to get back to Clearsight. Foeslayer had kept teasing the idea of something interesting happening later in the day, but he had no idea what. How he wished he could just keep going back and forth with her.

But he couldn't.

Because of the commotion.

The nobles giggled, their gaudy pearl necklaces bouncing against their necks. It was weird, the way they flaunted them. Just a week ago, pearls had been completely out of fashion. Now that Seawings were visiting, however, absolutely everybody was obsessed with pearls and clams and seashells…

Again. It was deceitful.

…damnit. He wished he could just crib about this for the rest of the night.

But he couldn't.

There was a commotion.

Part of Arctic wanted to try and pass it off as simply a coincidence, but… of course it wasn't. His soldier's instincts were actively fighting against him, telling him that he _had _to get involved, to make sure that nobody was hurt.

He sighed, pushing off and going to investigate.

_This is going to suck._

…the walk across the ballroom seemed like it took aeons.

But he persevered.

As he muscled his way past other Nightwings, he noticed that something was wrong. The chatter was there, but it was urgent; almost fearful. The soft pitter-patter of footsteps slowly grew, but was almost inaudible over the orchestra.

It was getting louder.

And then, just as somebody- or something- entered the room, Arctic felt a chill run down his spine.

As the music crescendoed with hard cymbal crashes, one after the other, and a downwards glissando, he spun in place.

There was somebody standing in front of the doorway.

…

The piece ended bombastically, but there was no applause.

For the Queen of the Nightwings was in attendance.

And nobody had eyes for anything but her.

…

She stood in the entryway like an avenging angel, absolutely terrifying in her stature and power. Her signature glare was ever-present, but it was accompanied by… mirth?

Her eyes slowly traversed the room, slicing deep into anybody who dared to meet them. With an almost imperceptible smirk, she stepped forward. Immediately, the wave of dragons at the forefront of the crowd took a step back.

The blazing braziers threw her shadows across the room, falling across the partygoers as a sort of testament to her widespread influence and power. She was taller than most other dragons- and to Arctic, it seemed like the sky was cowering back from her shoulders.

Even silhouetted against the stars, she looked powerful.

And her smile implied that she knew that… she _knew _that she carried entire worlds in her palm, and that she could dash them to the ground at any second, showering everybody with icy shards.

It was haunting.

And the she spoke.

"_FORMER…" _She boomed, the sound echoing across the ballroom like the thud of a gavel on a judge's desk.

"…Prince Arctic."

Her eyes focused on him.

And, like a snake sheds skin, he slipped into his princely persona.

Arctic gave a curt bow to the Queen, keeping one arm folded across his waist and another resting on the small of his back. He didn't know what the Queen wanted; but he was pretty sure it wasn't good.

"You have been with us for almost _ten years!"_

The murmured whispers that had sprung up in the silence between the Queen's words were like vipers hissing at him, and he shivered. Something bad was happening- and the worst part was, he could do nothing about it.

"And… in that _spirit…" _

The words crawled over his skin like thick, viscous slugs, and Arctic flinched.

"We wish to extend to you the same privileges as any other citizen."

The room fell silent.

…

…

The Queen cleared her throat. "In essence… we wish to make you an honorary Nightwing."

…_oh. _

_So _that's _what Prudence was up to. _

_Fucking bitch._

He straightened, ensuring that his posture was firm and regal before he began speaking. When he did so, his voice was a bit hoarse and gravelly; world weary, so as to emphasize his decades of experience.

Two could play at this game.

"Queen Vigilance, I am truly, _truly _honoured by your proposition." he began, enunciating the words clearly. "However, as an officer in your military, my duty is first to your crown; and I cannot in good faith accept your generous offer until I am certain that it will not in _any way _hinder my efforts to keep the Night Kingdom safe."

That was a safe proposition, right? Stall to ensure that the honorary citizenship would not affect his official duties, and try to figure out what Prudence had planned in the downtime?

However, what Prudence had planned became incredibly obvious almost immediately. It would've been a bit pathetic if he wasn't aware of what she could do at her best.

Prudence shuffled up next to Vigilance, her back bent over to make her look even more frail and old.

"My Queen, see how he hesitates!" she crooned, gesturing towards Arctic; who simply raised an eyebrow. "Surely, you must _banish-"_

"SILENCE!"

The quiet conversations faded into nothing as the Queen's command reverberated.

"…_Officer _Arctic," she began, glaring at Prudence, "I had not considered this. Rest assured, the honorary citizenship shall be yours once you ask for it; but your dedication to your work in the military speaks far more than any official declaration."

Arctic bowed. "Thank you, Queen Vigilance."

As he turned away from her, he carefully wiped a trickle of sweat that had made its way down his brow.

_Oh, thank god, another crisis averted-_

The smaller side-door to the ballroom burst open, revealing a small dragon panting with exertion. His spikes were matted to his face with sweat, and he clutched a small scroll to his chest.

"MY QUEEN!" He cried, falling forwards but collapsing on the ground just over the threshold. The scroll skittered across the floor, and the crowd parted to let it pass.

It rolled to a stop at Vigilance's feet.

Arctic's military training had already kicked in; he darted towards the exhausted Nightwing, inspecting him for a pulse and checking his scales. Foeslayer wasn't more than a second behind; checking him for any possible injuries.

"He's foaming." Foeslayer growled. Sweating during exercise was normal; but when somebody started foaming, it could cause severe problems if they didn't stop immediately.

Arctic didn't dawdle. "MEDIC! Somebody call a medic!"

Through the corridor, two guards entered- followed by the royal physician. After a cursory examination and quick chat with Arctic and Foeslayer, the dragon was carried out. Apparently, he was a messenger on 'special assignment', whatever that was.

Foeslayer stood from where she had been kneeling, rubbing her face.

"_What was that?" _she hissed at him, looking… disappointed? And _mad?_

Arctic hesitated. As far as he could tell, he had two options- apologise immediately, but not know why Foeslayer was angry, or admit that he didn't know why she was angry.

Both were equally as bad.

And then there was the unmistakable sound of a royal clearing their throat.

And Arctic realised that his day was going to get a lot worse.

Vigilance stood up straighter, an unnaturally cunning gleam in her eyes as she spoke.

"This… is a declaration of war."

And with that, the gala descended into utter chaos.


	16. Chapter 14

The room was dark.

The air was still, with dust motes slovenly spiralling along the sparse bands of sunlight shining through the slats of the closed shutters. It looked like a fascinating still-life study; what with the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, the unopened mail on the counter, and the two dragons draped over the chairs.

They were motionless; black, white, grey, and nothing else. They might as well have been dead, for all the moving they were doing.

Then the air was disturbed by a shout muffled by the walls, followed by another in response. The dragon sprawled in the chair on the left sighed, dragging her talon down her face, and the dragon in the chair on the right slumped down and groaned loudly.

"Are they going to stop?" he wondered aloud, eyes glazed over with boredom.

Whiteout turned to Darkstalker, exasperated. "I don't think so.

He kneaded his eyes, leaning the chair back onto two legs as the shouting crescendoed. "I don't think it's been this bad in…like… _years_."

"Yeah, because I always stopped them."

Abruptly, Darkstalker's mind exploded with harsh oranges and bright yellows. It took Whiteout less than a second to realise the unintended consequence of her words.

"Goddamnit, no, don't." she groaned, letting her fist fall onto the table as Darkstalker got up. "They just need to get this out of their systems."

Her brother hesitated, halfway out of his chair. "Are you sure?"

"Reasonably."

What Whiteout _didn't _want to mention was that the rift that had been driven in between their parents was quite a lot wider than either of them anticipated.

When their father had declined to immediately accept Nightwing citizenship, it _had _hurt their mother. Though she was trying to hide it by arguing with him, she'd taken his refusal as something more than just a surface level rejection of Prudence's suggestion.

And their father, being their father, hadn't noticed because he had the emotional and situational awareness of a lobotomized chimpanzee.

There was a lull in the sounds of their parents' argument, and Whiteout _hoped _that they'd finally stopped.

Then the noise started up again, and she slammed her head into the table.

"…aaaargh…" she moaned, lacking the energy to even muster up annoyance. The colours were too bright… it was giving her a headache…

"Damnit, Whiteout, gimme a sec."

She heard her brother push his chair back and retreat to the other side of the room, where he did something she couldn't make out by sound alone.

After a few seconds of dawdling, followed by the clatter of utensils as Darkstalker pulled something out of a cupboard, he returned, setting something down on the table with a heavy _thunk._

Gently, he grabbed her shoulders and manoeuvred her in such a way that her back was now perpendicular to the backrest on the chair. Then he leaned her back until her head was in his lap.

A few drops of icy cold water splashed onto her muzzle, making her scrunch it up in discomfort. Then Darkstalker lowered a wet towelette onto her forehead and began massaging her temples, making her sigh with infinite relief.

"Thanks." she mumbled, already feeling better.

"Don't mention it."

As though it had been set up with comedic timing in mind, their parents' argument suddenly became audible again.

"_Is that what you're going to do?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Fine!"_

"_Fine!"_

The sounds of two doors slamming shut echoed through the house.

There were a few seconds of terse silence, during which neither of them moved. Slowly, Whiteout opened her eyes against her too-bright surroundings, and glanced at the doorway.

Foeslayer slowly slunk down the hall, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. All the fight seemed to have left her completely.

Whiteout sighed. It was always like this; they'd fight, and then immediately regret it afterwards. It would've been funny; how they petulantly refused to apologise to each other, that is; if it wasn't for the pain it caused them all.

She looked up as he crossed the threshold and winced, stopping in her steps.

"I- I'm sorry you two had to hear that."

There was a pause that went on for _slightly _too long before Darkstalker realised that Whiteout was incapacitated and therefore couldn't reassure their mother.

"It's fine!" he blurted out. Foeslayer smiled sadly, and pulled out a chair to sit in.

"You don't need to pretend. I know this is hard for the two of you too."

He sighed, scratching behind his ear. "Yeah. It's been… a while since things were this bad."

Foeslayer looked away, crossing her arms on the dining table and tapping her talons against it in a restless, staccato beat. "I truly _am _sorry, it's just…"

She pressed her palm to her eyes. "Your father… I'm just not sure what he was thinking. And… you know him; the instant he feels threatened, he just goes into self-defence mode, and nobody can get through to him."

Darkstalker raised his head slightly. "I mean, the two of you _could _just forgive each other, right?"

Foeslayer and Whiteout glanced at him with wildly varying expressions. His mother was looking at him with the general demeanour of the elementary school teacher listening to a child talking about the tooth fairy, and Whiteout had one eyebrow raised so high it was in danger of flying off her head.

"…do you really think it would be that simple?" she asked.

"…maybe?" he answered weakly.

Foeslayer sighed. "Well, it isn't that simple. I can't claim to understand your father's reasons for not wanting to make the fact that he's a citizen of the Night Kingdom official, and I can't help but wonder if he… just doesn't want to be here."

Whiteout began to say something, but a white-hot spike of pain rammed into her cortex, causing her to seize up and moan softly. Darkstalker quickly began massaging her head again, dipping the towel into the bowl of water to keep it cool.

"Move over." Foeslayer commanded, coming over to take Darkstalker's place. He relinquished the cloth and his seat to his mother, who went ahead and began soothing his sister with her gentler, more experienced touch.

There was a semi-comfortable silence that the three of them basked in for a while.

"…it won't ever be that simple, Darkstalker." Foeslayer continued. "That's probably something you should learn now."

He hummed noncommittally, entirely unsure what to do next. Logically, he knew that it wouldn't have been that simple. On the other hand… their reasons for arguing seemed so entirely _trivial _that it was difficult for him to sympathise, or even understand.

"Where _is _dad?"

A wisp of a mischievous grin flashed across Foeslayer's face, disappearing far too soon. "He was too far from the door to make a dramatic exit, so I think he just climbed out of the window. He's probably still out there, actually."

Darkstalker puffed out his cheeks, turning his aborted laughter into raucous coughing.

"Do you mind if I go and talk to him?"

"Go ahead."

Rapidly, he upped and left.

* * *

The window in the bedroom was indeed open, robin egg blue drapes fluttering in the resultant breeze. Darkstalker hesitated at the threshold, wondering what he would even say…

What would he even ask?

He didn't know. All he wanted was some assurance that everything was going to be alright… but it was going to be a reassurance that he wasn't going to get.

His talons clacked against the flagstone floor, and he winced. Everything seemed too loud after the fight. He needed to be quieter.

The weather was appropriately gloomy as he emerged onto the ledge outside his parents' window. A cloud had drifted in front of the sun, draining vibrance from the world. Arctic was standing on the edge, looking out onto the landscape.

"Is that you, Darkstalker?" he asked without looking back.

"Yeah." he stood up, walking to stand beside his father. He was uncertain as to how to proceed from here. "…Whiteout has a migrane."

"Because of me." Arctic said. It wasn't a question.

"Technically both you and… it's alright."

"It's really not." he sighed. "I'd hoped to have developed more self-control by now. But…"

He looked down.

"…what happened?"

"What always happens." he rubbed his face. "Me and your mother got in a fight."

Darkstalker moved closer. "Because of the declaration of war?"

Arctic nodded, expression taught.

"Why?"

"Because I'm an idiot." he lowered himself to the ground, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the ledge. Darkstalker decided to do the same, keeping his eyes on his father.

"I suggested going back home to smooth some things over." he continued. "You know, tell them to back off, maybe threaten them, use my powers maybe…"

Darkstalker frowned. "That wouldn't work, would it?"

"I _know _it wouldn't work, but…" a long pause. "…I can't just accept that they're evil and leave it at that. They're my people. My… my family."

_We're your family. _Darkstalker thought but didn't say. He was trying his best to stay out of Arctic's mind, but it was difficult not to notice the tendrils of extreme brightness curling around the edges of his mind.

Arctic swallowed. "Some part of me still has hope that maybe I could go back, talk to my mother, sort it out… that everything will turn out fine."

He shook his head. "I'm a fool."

"No-"

"And I betrayed Foeslayer's trust in doing so." his sigh was deeper than the rest had been. "Isn't that just wonderful?"

Darkstalker looked off into the distance, pulling his knees up against his chin. "You could try and apologise, maybe."

"Darkstalker, even if I did do that… it won't change the fact that I hurt your mother."

He sighed, leaning back.

"I had my chance, and I completely blew it. Gods, it- it's never been an issue before, but… I just…"

He let his hand fall from his head and stared up at the sky.

"…I don't know."

Darkstalker didn't really know how to respond to that.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. After about five seconds of gazing wistfully at the endless expanse, Arctic exhaled, and leapt to his feet.

"I think I'm going to fix up some balm for Whiteout. It's the least I can do, after all the trouble I've caused."

He ducked into the room through the window, leaving Darkstalker alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Darkstalker re-entered the kitchen to find that he was witnessing an argument unfolding in media res.

While Whiteout dozed peacefully on her mother's lap, generous amounts of mint-and-menthol-scented balm slathered on her forehead and under her nostrils, her parents were going at it. All the timidness and regret they had displayed in private was old news, apparently.

Though they _were _whispering to avoid waking her up, so it wasn't _all _bad.

"…_what, and risk falling atrap to whatever evil machinations your mother had in play?" _Arctic hissed, wiping down the counter with one talon as he jabbed across the room at her with the other.

"What _machinations, Arctic?" _Foeslayer snarked, gently stroking along Whiteout's cheeks. "_Admit it. There wasn't anything. You just still can't let the Ice Kingdom go!"_

"_And so _what _if I can't let it go?" _he demanded, throwing the rag he was using down onto the table for added effect. A wet _smack_ emanated through the room.

Whiteout stirred.

Everybody froze.

After a few seconds of tense silence, she shifted and resumed her nap. Arctic and Foeslayer stayed silent for a few seconds longer, and then continued.

"_So _what _if I can't let it go?" _Arctic demanded. "_They might've been horrid, but they're my _people. _I can't just let go of that on a whim!"_

"_You let go of it the instant you left the Ice Kingdom with me!" _Foeslayer countered.

"For crying-" Darkstalker began.

"_SSSHHHH!" _

"_Oh, _now_ the two of you agree…" _he muttered under his breath. "_Why is this argument still happening?_"

"_Because-" "Well, she-" "Oh, that's rich." "Well, it's true-"_

"This can't be good for Whiteout." Darkstalker interjected.

"_Whiteout's asleep." _Arctic whispered.

"Nah." he responded confidently. "She's awake."

Silence as the realisation set in.

Then Whiteout groaned.

"G_oddamnit, Darkstalker_."

The quiet beratement began almost immediately.

"_Why are you listening in? That isn't good for migranes-" "Dear, you need your rest and you know it-"_

Whiteout waved their concerns aside and sat up. "_I'm reading both of your thoughts right now, and literally all the two of you need to solve this problem is _talk _to each other. I'm not going to get in the way of that."_

"Whiteout, you're never going to be _getting in the way." _Foeslayer insisted, stroking her forehead. "We're your parents. You and Darkstalker are the single most important things in our lives."

"_And not each other?"_

"That's absurd." Arctic materialized next to her with a small pot in hand. He knelt down next to her and began slathering the minty balm within all over her forehead. "Come on, Whiteout."

Whiteout sighed gently as the balm soothed her pain. "_Fine. It doesn't change the fact that the two of you _refuse _to have a conversation about this for some inexplicable reason."_

Arctic glanced up at Foeslayer guiltily. She glanced back in much the same manner.

"…you know what," Foeslayer began, already gently lifting Whiteout's head from her lap and rising from the chair, "how about we go and do that immediately after we get you to bed. Hmm?"

Whiteout nodded weakly and got to her feet. Arctic and Foeslayer took most of her weight, and together the three of them made their way to her and Darkstalker's shared room.

Darkstalker followed behind, his mind still a too-bright blur. He was already confused about what could've caused his father to renege on his past decision to leave the Ice Kingdom, and the image of his parents carrying a pained Whiteout to bed was a staple of the _bad old days. _

_Darkstalker. _Whiteout's voice flowed over his mind like water babbling in a brook. _It'll be alright._

_I hope so. _He responded, getting up from his seat and following the trio into the other room. There, Foeslayer and Arctic had already set Whiteout down onto the bed. Foeslayer was now opening the window, while Arctic spoke with her in hushed tones. They both turned to face him as he entered.

"Alright." Foeslayer relaxed a bit, letting the circles and worry lines around her eyes come into focus. "Darkstalker, you stay with your sister and make sure she stays fine. Me and your father are going to go outside and talk this over _reasonably _like _reasonable _adults."

"Let's." Arctic agreed, nodding curtly. He took her hand and the two of them left the room, leaving him and Whiteout alone. After a few seconds, he heard the front door shut with a definitive thud.

Darkstalker walked over to her bed and began stroking Whiteout's hand gently, still staring in the direction that their parents had departed.

_Was it really that simple all along? _He wondered, mindful of her cool presence lingering on the edges of his mind.

_Not really. _She responded, splotches of orange floating through the indistinct haze that was somehow unmistakably her_. They're still a bit mad at each other. They're just keeping it together for the two of us. _

Darkstalker felt his heart sink.

_Oh._

_Ease your heart. _Whiteout assured him. _Small victories. _

* * *

Arctic had hoped that the flight away from their house would afford him some time to compose himself and come up with a decent argument in his defence. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side that day.

He stole a glance at Foeslayer, wincing as he recognised each one of her nervous tics. She was anxious. To be fair, so was he.

They'd found themselves in the wild prairies just beyond the rocky outcroppings they called home. Albeit verdant, they were windswept and chilly. They reminded Arctic far more of the Ice Kingdom than he was comfortable admitting. Yet… some part of him found them comforting.

He supposed there really was no better place to have this conversation.

Foeslayer was facing the east, gazing wistfully towards the mountains that separated them from the rest of Pyrrhia. It was incidentally also the direction the Ice Kingdom lay in.

"Arctic," she began, so softly and abruptly that for a second he couldn't be certain she'd spoken at all, "why would you want to go back?"

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "To smooth things over with my family. To try and make amends. To prevent a full-blown war. There's a lot of reasons."

Foeslayer sighed, turning her head to one side. "Do you really believe you'd be able to do any of those things?"

"…I can at least try."

"Is that what this is about?" she asked, facing him for the first time since they'd left the house. "Some misconstrued attempt at righting the wrongs of your parents?"

"That's unfair!" he argued. "Besides, I refuse to believe there isn't _something _I can do."

"But at what _cost, _Arctic? Your dignity? Your life here? _Us?_" Foeslayer shook her head. "You're telling me that after all that we've been through together, you would just… leave? Go back home and try and convince your parents to back off?"

"I'd come back-" he began, only to have Foeslayer sigh in disappointment.

"Don't kid yourself, Arctic. If they were willing to resort to lethal methods to stop you from leaving once, who's to say they won't do it again?"

He rubbed at his face. "Fine. Yes, they probably would.

"Then why would you even bring it up?"

"Because what's the alternative?" he posited, momentarily raising his fists to the heavens. "I don't believe for a second that the monarchs of the Ice Kingdom are level-headed enough to call this entire thing off- especially since nobody outside of the highest circle can so much as flick their snouts in Vigilance's general direction. If I'm able to use my status as a former aristocrat- and one of the last surviving animuses- to prevent a war, is that really such a bad thing?"

"Is there _any guarantee _that they'd listen to you?" Foeslayer shook her head. "Here's what I think will happen- you'll walk right into their clutches, and you'll be summarily executed. Then what?"

"I have animus powers-"

"You're assuming that as an animus, you could go up against the Ice Kingdom. Pray tell, have you considered that they might've hidden anti-animus charms from you?

"No!" she interrupted before he even had a chance to counteract. "You _have. _I know you, Arctic, and I know just how much consideration you've given this idea. You _know _the risks, and you've still decided that it would be wise to run off and singlehandedly confront the most powerful group on the entire continent!"

Before Arctic could respond, Foeslayer had wheeled about to face him once more. "And you know what? I'm fine with that. But I just want to know _why. _Why would you do this? Why would you abandon your family?"

The wind rustled through the grains as they stared each other down.

'…Foeslayer, they're my family too." Arctic begged. "I- I can't just accept that there's nothing I can do to stop them from- from declaring war! This could save our children's lives!"

"At the cost of your own?" she whispered.

"Yes." he responded. "Always."

There was a muffled, curious sort of silence_. _Foeslayer looked away, and Arctic abruptly realised the severity of his words.

She took his hand.

"Alright." she said. "But if we're going to do this… we'll do it together."

Arctic put on his brave face and nodded resolutely.

"We will."

* * *

It was before sunrise, and Fathom was working out.

Yes, really.

There was a small copse on the prairie, in stark contrast to the wild grass, reeds and dandelions that populated the surrounding slopes. Apparently, it had been planted on special request from Queen Vigilance.

Yet more self-aggrandizing displays of opulence. At this point, he wasn't even surprised. It wasn't as though he was all that parsimonious either- it was just stupid.

Still, the various types of trees meant that he was spoilt for choice. The spongy pine foliage was perfect for cushioning falls, while the weeping willows- despite not having many useful parts- were hardly an eyesore. Best suited for his task, however, were the numerous oak trees; they were rather strong, and each had branches that he could reach on his tiptoes.

It was perfect to get the blood pumping.

Granted, he didn't work out _that_ often, but that was because he usually had princely matters to attend to! Like… reading and… writing and stuff. It was important!

But of course, that was cause the titular question to be asked of him; _Why now? What makes _today _so special?_

And to that, there was inevitably only one answer.

If you cared to venture far enough into the copse, you would find yourself standing in a clearing beneath an oculus. It was underneath this window to the rest of the world that Indigo was training.

She was standing on her right leg, her sword in her left hand, the rest of her body curved like a scythe. In front of her, suspended with string from a branch, was a singular clover leaf.

Her body swayed infinitesimally in the wind; so little that if he'd blinked, he would've thought it a trick of the light. It was coiled like a spring, ready to lunge at any second. Each tendon was stretched taught, so that she almost trembled with the tension.

A tiny bead of sweat dripped from her nose. She inhaled shakily.

Somewhere far in the distance, the metallic pings of a lute echoed over the airy drone of a flute. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, causing the shadows to dance playfully across her face.

All was quiet. The corner of her mouth quirked up.

Quick as a flash, Indigo struck out with the sword. One stroke down and to the right and as the sword cut through the clover she pirouetted, turning the blade around and bringing it up for another cut. Finally, as her weapon reached the apex of its climb, glinting dangerously in the sun, she brought it down for one last swoop.

The clover leaf fell apart. In three deft strokes, she'd utterly decimated it.

She breathed hard, staring down the tiny nub that was all that was left of the clover. Slowly, with great reverence, she fixed the sword in the earth and bowed.

Then she looked up, met his eyes, and broke into a wide smile.

"Fathom!"

He emerged from the shrubbery where he'd set up camp, attempting to dislodge some stubborn leaves from between his webbed talons as he walked towards her.

"How're ya doing?" she asked chummily, wiping some of the sweat from her brow and extending a hand for him to shake. He tried to ignore the fact that her body was literally glistening from the exertion.

"I'm good." he responded, trying to prevent an aneurysm through sheer willpower. "Just wanted to check up on you."

"Well, I'm good too." she responded, lightly huffing as she glanced about. "Hey, as long as you're here, why not go through the cooldown stretches with me?"

He nodded, placing his legs slightly apart so as to steady himself. The stretches had been burnt into his memory by years of repetition. As a beginner he'd thought they were a waste of time… until one day he'd woken up with cramps. That hadn't been pleasant.

They began simultaneously, each one focused on competing the exercises to the best of their abilities. First bicep stretches, then calf stretches, then back and tricep stretches along with some other muscle groups whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember. They finished off by jogging in place for about two minutes.

About time, too. The sun had almost cleared the mountains in the distance by the time Fathom and Indigo packed up and began trudging back to the palace. It was a relatively short path through the stalks of winter barley, gentle clashings of green and yellow mixed in with the deep golden strands of husk.

And the entire way, he worried.

War was coming.

And he didn't want anything to do with it.

"Have you thought about… _it, _at all?" he asked, turning to Indigo. She sighed, readjusting the position of the sword between her shoulderblades.

"I'd definitely prefer not to get caught up in the war, if that's what you're asking." she began. "However, if we act overeager to leave, it might be… rude? I'm not sure."

He nodded, and she continued. "Besides, the war seems to directly involve Darkstalker, which is…"

Indigo gave pause, then continued forging onwards. "Do you get the impression that he's hiding something?"

"What?" Fathom jogged to keep up with her.

"I don't know…" Indigo slowed down, panting lightly. "He just… rubs me the wrong way. There's something we don't know… and I don't like it."

"I disagree, but I don't suppose you'll have to deal with him much longer anyways." Fathom replied. "The scroll we sent will _definitely _have reached the Sea Kingdom by now. In fact, I strongly suspect that today's meeting is going to be about sending us back!"

"Really?" Indigo turned back, a look of horror dawning upon her face.

"Yeah! I mean, I wish I could stay longer, but-"

"No, I mean the meeting." she hit her palm against her face. "That was today?"

He paused. "…yes?"

"We're late!"

And with that Indigo took off, leaving a harried Fathom to follow.

* * *

Princess Serendipity was an oddity among the royal family.

An illegitimate child who had been injured by a wild boar at the tender age of seven, she had spent most of her life living with her father- a military man- until he had passed of a rare heart condition. She had then come back to the palace, where Vigilance had given her a job as General of the Army.

Though this was initially met by cries of nepotism, especially since she was but fifteen at the time, she soon proved herself one of the most effective tacticians the Kingdom had ever seen. Under her rule, the kingdom had reduced the size of its military by a significant amount and had become better than ever. She'd garnered a reputation as a ruthless trainer who often led from the front. Nobody wanted to challenge her.

Seven years later, as she sat among her peers at an oblong onyx table marbled with streaks of red that looked far too much like blood for Indigo's comfort, it was beginning to show.

Her spikes were trimmed incredibly short, leaving the scars crisscrossing her face on display for all to see. The thin line of her mouth opened slightly, lips pursing, as the last few stragglers entered the room and took their places. The dark circles and worry lines seemed to be permanent.

Interestingly, she wasn't sitting at the head of the table; nobody was. The chair that usually sat there had been removed, and that entire side of the room was instead taken up by a forest of chalkboards on rollers. Apparently one of the advisors had let it slip that he used pre-prepared chalkboards to avoid the dull monotony of writing out his notes during meetings, and the rest of the staff had decided to follow suit- on the same weekend.

Momentarily, everybody entered the room and settled down. Then the chairs of the meeting, two Nightwings in matching Chippendale outfits and top hats, stood and began speaking.

"Welcome, everybody, to the Icewing-Nightwing Conflict Planning Committee." they droned, almost perfectly in unison. "This may come as a surprise to those of you who know this as the Icewing-Nightwing Conflict_ Resolution _Committee, but I'm sure that we can all agree that after a declaration of war, de-escalation really isn't an option."

They began introducing advisors and attendees, whose names didn't really register with Indigo. She remained upright in her chair, honing her 'I'm listening, please don't call on me' expression to perfection, until the chairs finished up their speech by introducing the star of the party.

"And finally, General of the Armies Serendipity."

The Nightwing nodded, sizing up everybody else. "I'm going to be frank, ladies and gentlemen- I'm uncertain as to why I'm here. I do my best work on the front lines, where I fully intend to return once I present my report to Queen Vigilance. As far as I could gleam from my discussion with her, she wants me to translate this committee's quote-unquote 'military jargon' into something she can understand. So, let's get to it."

There was a gentle murmuring as the meeting began in earnest.

"First off; we aren't going on the offensive." One of the advisors, a greying man without many spikes, opened with. "The Icewings are notoriously defensive and given their vast abundance of animus-enchanted gifts- most of which I would like to emphasizewe _do not know about- _it would be suicide._"_

Serendipity nodded, quickly dashing down something on her parchment. "I don't want to sound as though I've made up my mind, but purely hypothetically- what if we went on the offensive regardless?"

"The situation's still pretty grim, ma'am."

The advisor got up, bones creaking, and walked over to the head of the table, adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses as he did so. After slowly dragging a chalkboard out of the herd, he extracted a pointer from somewhere on his person. It hit the board with a sharp _crack, _sending a plume of chalk dust flying.

"The most famous of the animus gifts is the ice wall, enchanted to keep anybody that isn't an Icewing out of the kingdom. We could bypass this if we had enough time, but we would lose a lot of good soldiers to the enchantments. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that the Icewings have the advantage in almost every way.

"They have the high ground. They have the _home _ground. They have more resources, more experience, and soldiers better suited to the environment. Our chances of success are incredibly low, and any success we have would be accompanied by massive losses.

"Moreover, we need to discuss our possible outcomes. What would our goal be in going on the offensive? Take over the kingdom, perhaps? That's unlikely, given how long it's been since we've been directly involved in any war effort whatsoever. Ideally, we would like the Ice Kingdom to withdraw their declaration of war, and perhaps come up with a treaty to that effect. However, all a direct assault will do is increase Nightwing resentment.

"Now, that's not to say that a direct assault on the kingdom will never happen. It would be incredibly unwise to rule it out so soon. It should, however, under no circumstances be our opening move."

After a second of silence to give the advisor's speech due respect, Serendipity nodded. "Indeed. However, just to humour her majesty, I think we need some elaboration."

Another advisor- a female Nightwing with a cane- got to her feet and walked over to the herd of chalkboards. Hers was placed at the front of the pack, so she was simply able to turn to face the room and begin her presentation.

"Getting there would be a challenge in itself," she began, voice gentle and warbling, "for it's a journey of about fifty leagues over freezing tundra with little to no shelter. Taking into consideration how long it will take to mobilize our soldiers and resources, we might have to make the journey in winter; something most Icewings won't risk. People with experience crossing the tundra- mostly diplomats from before our relationship with the Ice Kingdom broke down- maintain that the only reason they ever managed to get there without freezing to death was thanks to their Icewing guides, who often found caves for them to rest in."

Flipping the chalkboard, a process which took almost a full minute, she continued.

"Of course, if we found snowdrifts more than five feet deep en route, we could have each of our soldiers dig down and protect themselves from the wind by huddling up in holes. However, we would require a lot of holes to house all our forces if we want a chance at storming the city- and a lot of holes pockmarking snow that close to each other is a recipe for disaster. It would take one boundary wall to come crashing down… and we could lose good soldiers.

"Also, this assumes there's any snow at all- which isn't a given. Sometimes the tundra goes through periods of drought, when it doesn't snow for months. We could try searching for the caves the Icewings found, but they wouldn't be anywhere near the size required to host any significant chunk of our army.

"We could simply keep our soldiers in tents, but that's a risky proposition. For one, we wouldn't have clear lines of sight, which would make it all the easier for Icewing forces to infiltrate the camp. Besides, to do so we would need fuel to keep our forces warm- and we have no way to transport enough of it from our forests."

Serendipity pressed her palm to her forehead, staring down at her notes. "And this isn't taking into account the problem of enough food."

An advisor nodded.

"Just as I suspected." she scribbled something down, tallied up her notes, and stuffed them into her rucksack. "That should be enough to satiate Vigilance. Obviously, the smartest move would be to wait until we're certain what the Ice Kingdom'snext move is. However, we should probably start doubling patrols and ensuring that our forces know what to expect."

"Understood." A dragon with dark bags under their eyes took a note and passed it to a messenger, who left the room with very little noise. "We should also try and rally some support from the other kingdoms- just in case, of course."

At this, Fathom sat up a bit straighter, and Serendipity noticed his eagerness.

"Ah, yes. The Seawing royalty."

She sized Fathom and Indigo up, and then sighed, spinning her quill and setting it down. "I don't mean offense, of course, but the two of you are not much more than children. Children who have… been through a lot, let's say. Our understanding was that you were here on a diplomatic mission- and, of course, the instant we realised the threat of war, we intended for the two of you to return to the Sea Kingdom. Unfortunately, we don't think that's going to be possible.

"What?" Fathom asked incredulously. "Why?"

The general nodded to another advisor, who cleared her throat and spoke.

"The scroll that was sent to the Sea Kingdom a week ago… we haven't received a reply yet. Given how in the past the Seawings remained neutral in any conflict that doesn't directly involve them, it appears that they've decided not to engage. Furthermore, based on the precedent set by their actions in previous times of emergency… they appear to have gone dark."

Indigo blinked, stunned. Going dark was something the Seawings discussed in hushed tones, as a last resort in case things went south. In essence, the Summer Palace would be entirely abandoned, and the Deep Palace would be sealed off. Any Seawings who weren't there when it happened…

There was a brief flash of despair and anguish across Fathom's face as he processed the implications; and then it was gone, replaced by a stony countenance. "Understood."

Serendipity's expression became just a tad more sympathetic. "Well, the reason we invited you to this meeting was so that you'd understand exactly what we're going up against. If it's any consolation, the palace _is _one of the most well-protected places in the entire kingdom, so you should be completely safe here. In the meantime, why don't the two of you stay with your guides?"

Noticing the not-so-subtle cue to vacate the room, Indigo touched Fathom on the arm and rose to leave. As they walked to the doors, everybody else continued talking.

"I've noticed that Queen Diamond still hasn't relayed her demands to us yet, though we assume she wants the dragonets-"

That was all Indigo heard before the doors slammed shut with a resounding thud.

Immediately, Fathom pressed his back against the wall, scrunching up his face in an attempt to staunch the tears. Indigo took his hands, which were clenched into fists at his side, and guided him into a sitting position.

She thought he was going to break down completely, but after a few sniffles and wipes he stopped shuddering and breathed deeply.

"I must look a sorry sight." he whispered. "In tears just because I'm dangerous-"

"-just because your sister abandoned you, you mean." Indigo interjected, keeping her voice down. He closed his eyes again, and for a second she was afraid that she'd said the wrong thing, but when he opened them again they were far clearer.

"…I mustn't dwell on it." he rasped, and she shook her head.

"Dwell on it. Cry, scream, get it out there, _whatever._ You've been wronged by your own _family."_

He sighed, looking away.

"…It's not really her fault, is it though, Indigo?"

Slowly, Indigo dropped into a sitting position right next to him.

"Yeah, I guess it's not."

They sat like that awhile, taking in the golden radiance of the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows and splashing across the walls and arched ceilings, making the coats of armour shine blindingly bright and gently toasting the tapestries suspended from the roof- all of which were a bit faded.

"Pearl would've hated that." Fathom said.

"What?"

"The tapestries being put up there. Right in the sun." he smiled slightly. "She used to be a pain in the butt about _exactly _where to put the tapestries so they wouldn't be damaged by the currents."

Indigo clapped him on the shoulder.

"Let's leave the tapestries like that awhile, huh?"

They walked out of the palace, having cast the slowly bleaching art from their minds.

* * *

Darkstalker was distracting himself the only way he knew how.

He was perched on the ledge outside his open window, being buffeted wildly by the wind, watching as the monolithic clouds blew in from over the sea. They moved slowly but surely across the sky, eventually blending into one another as they disappeared over the opposite horizon.

In his hands was a small bit of parchment and a quill, and by his side was an inkpot. There was something uniquely different about writing poetry outdoors as opposed to at his desk; he had to support the parchment with his hands, which wasn't all that easy; and it was a bit odd to not have the smell of ink and old wood stuffing up his nose.

Still. It was going well. He had written an _entire _word!

He glared down at the parchment in a futile attempt to make more words appear, but alas. All that graced the yellowed paper was 'saccharine'.

_Why _he had chosen 'saccharine' was anybody's guess.

After frowning at the paper for a few more seconds and casting another cursory glance at his surroundings- obsidian stone mountains and prairies for miles beyond- he continued writing.

_Saccharine skies  
Burning my lips, tugging at my tongue  
They are too sweet. _

He stared at his semi-haiku, and then crossed it out. Tapping the end of the quill against his chin, he tried to continue.

"What's up?"

"AARGH!"

He flailed, almost knocking over the inkpot and losing the parchment over the edge.

"Sorry." Whiteout giggled, poking her head out of the window.

"_It's not funny." _he grumbled, picking up his stuff as she joined him on the ledge.

"It's a bit funny." she countered, sitting down next to him and crossing her legs. "I know what you're thinking and yes, I _am _better now. Thanks for taking care of me."

"It was nothing."

They stared out towards the world. It was harsh and oversaturated, though a temporary reprise was granted when the sun was suddenly covered by a cloud. As the massive shadow it cast spread over the landscape like spilled ink, Darkstalker realised just how powerful the wind was today.

"Writing something?" Whiteout asked, glancing over to the parchment flapping madly in his hand.

"Kind of." he smoothed it against the rock, glaring at the singular word he had added. "I'm not having much luck."

The sun broke out again, causing his sister to wince and shield her eyes.

"Well, I just wanted to stop by and say that I'm heading out to meet someone."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "Have you got a date?"

"Keep on dreaming."

"That isn't a no."

She grinned. "You know what the best part about this is? You're going to keep wondering… but you'll _never know."_

As he watched, Whiteout got up and walked over to the edge of the outcropping, staring down at the wide expanse of yellow-green stalks waving in the wind.

"I wonder how fast the clouds move."

And with that, she was gone. After a second her freefall levelled out, and he caught a glimpse of her wings beating as she spiralled towards the ground.

Darkstalker gazed after her for a few seconds, and then returned to the parchment.

_Clouds._

He stared.

…

He set the quill down, rapidly shaped the parchment into something resembling a paper aeroplane, and let it fly off into the sky.

* * *

Everything had been going perfectly, until it very suddenly hadn't been.

Clearsight supposed just a bit more context than _just _that was required to understand the scope of the problem. So, first things first- her and Whiteout were due to meet up. It was to be a fairly informal affair, just two friends talking to each other… on a park bench… while not making eye contact.

She didn't understand why it had to be so clandestine, to be completely honest. But Whiteout had given her the instructions, and she _was_ going to follow them.

However, just a few minutes before they had been due to meet up, a shower had rolled in. Since Clearsight wasn't really a fan of getting soaked at inopportune times, they'd retreated inside.

There was just one small problem with that plan.

With the Night Kingdom being what it was, there wasn't really all that much to do in town if you weren't of drinking age. And the town's only library was in the schoolhouse, which was about ten minutes away by air.

Thankfully, there _was _this one place hidden away in a deep corner of the mountain.

The sign hanging over the sturdy door was faded, splashed with all the colours of the rainbow. A single window had all sorts of crayon drawings stuck on it. A multi-coloured picket fence that seemed to serve no apparent purpose except for _aesthetic _completed the effect.

"When you said you had a place in mind," Whiteout deadpanned as a toddler tried to climb up her face, "this isn't what I expected."

"Yeah." Clearsight sighed, thumping her head against the wall. They were both sitting in a gently elevated corner of the daycare, which afforded them a view of the sea of young children. Currently, they appeared to be trying their best to recreate the 'barricade' scenes from _Les Misérables, _musical numbers and all.

The noise was deafening.

"It's dry, at least." she said offhandedly. The dragonet giggled, sticking its talon into Clearsight's ear. Its other hand had dug into the wall, which was already covered in scratches and pencil marks. A rather harried looking matron scurried over to them and extracted the youngling, dropping him back into the pen with the others.

"Right." Whiteout clapped her hands together. "I don't mean to sound rude, but let's just get this over with."

"Alright."

Whiteout cleared her throat, pulling out a scroll with her notes written on it. "So, a few things that I think will probably be important. One; have you noticed a recent uptick in dark futures?"

"Not really, no. As far as I can tell, nothing much has changed."

"But we can both agree that the declaration of war was completely unexpected."

"Right out of left field, yeah."

It definitely hadn't been a prediction she'd been comfortable making. Sure, timelines where the Icewings declared war weren't that uncommon… but a declaration at that exact time, in that way? Almost entirely implausible.

"Ah, good." Whiteout relaxed, sighing. "Everything's going according to plan."

"What plan?"

"You don't need to concern yourself with that. Now, what's your take on the Seawing dignitaries?"

Clearsight quirked an eyebrow. "I… what do you mean?"

"Well, you must've seen into their futures at some point. Is anything _interesting _going to happen?"

"…I don't think so."

"Perfect. Also…" Whiteout paused, staring straight ahead.

"Whiteout?"

The other girl blinked hard, and grimaced.

"Sorry, it's just… urgh." she shook her head. "It's too loud. Don't mind. I can deal with it. Ummm… anything remotely interesting in the coming futures? At all?"

Clearsight sifted through some more timelines. "Depends on your definition of interesting, really. If you mean dangerous, then no."

"Ah, so-"

A crash echoed from somewhere nearby, and something splattered against Clearsight's face. Out of instinct, she squeezed her eyes shut, recoiling from the impact.

After a second, she felt something oozing down her forehead. Carefully opening her eyes as she wiped it away, she realised that it was a bright fluorescent pink.

Apparently, one of the kids had knocked over a cart of fluorescent edible paints with so much force that it had ended up all the way up here.

"Jesus, this is one disaster after another, isn't it?" she asked, wiping away more paint.

No response.

"Whiteout?"

She turned and noticed a few things.

One; the spilling of paints had caused considerably more chaos in the already chaotic room. Caretakers were screaming, some kids were wailing, others were bouncing up and down in the paint.

Two; the paint was way too bright. And it was slowly swirling together, taking up almost all of the floor in front of them.

Three, Whiteout was staring straight ahead at the colours, breathing deeply.

And her breathing was getting heavier.

"Whiteout?"

She began struggling to breathe, still staring at the colours. Her hands were trembling.

And that's when it clicked.

"Oh, no. Whiteout!"

Clearsight grabbed Whiteout and shook her by the shoulders. Then she rapidly realised that probably wasn't the best idea and pulled her into a hug instead.

"Shit! Um- you can get through this, okay?"

Her friend was having an episode- probably from sensory overload. And it was her fault. Oh lord, what was she going to do?

_There's too much noise._

She grabbed the fuzzy earmuffs from the toy cart next to them and placed them over Whiteout's ears. They were covered in neon yellow. And they barely fit. And they probably caused more problems than they solved. What was she doing?

"Ohmigod, OK, Whiteout, just breathe, yeah? Breathe with me!"

For some reason, as she mimicked a slow, steady breathing pattern, Clearsight's mind went to a book she'd read about a traveller who'd come across some dragons who couldn't speak her language. In order to see how advanced their civilization was, she'd begun tapping out the counting numbers.

"You're going to be fine, just breathe. Close your eyes and breathe with me."

So, as Whiteout's breathing began slowing down and she pressed her face into Clearsight's neck, Clearsight began tapping the counting numbers out onto her wrist.

After a tense second in which it seemed that her breathing was quickening, Whiteout began tapping back.

Once they'd gotten up to ten, they went through the times table of two. Then primes until seventeen. Then the Fibonacci numbers. With each pattern, Whiteout seemed to grow more and more comfortable. Eventually she pulled back, wiping at her face with one hand while still tapping out the numbers with the other.

After a while her breathing returned completely to normal, and she glanced up at Clearsight with a grateful smile.

"Neon pink really isn't your colour, you know."

"Highlighter yellow isn't yours, either."

They went outside after that. They could deal with a little rain.

* * *

The library had four new visitors today.

One- Darkstalker. He was lying on a cheetah-print sofa, legs draped over one arm and head resting on the other, glaring balefully at the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock across from him. The wall beside him was covered in striped green wallpaper; a cluster of miniscule portraits adorning it giving the room an air of the strange and disconnected.

Two- Clearsight. She was sitting at the only desk in the room they'd reserved. Each of the study rooms had their own set of quirky furnishings that she strongly suspected were just things the castle staff had donated to get out of their hair. Regardless, she'd chosen one chock-full of potential conversation starters tailored specifically for her guests. Even so, she was restless, tapping on the table and jiggling her leg as she waited for the Seawings to make their appearance.

Three- Fathom, who was currently bothering a library assistant who was just getting off the graveyard shift and thus wasn't much inclined to helping him with his numerous queries. It didn't help that most of his questions boiled down to _'That's pretty cool! Could you tell me what else is cool?' _Blob sat atop his head, completely content.

Four- Indigo, who was trying to pry Fathom off the poor assistant and get him to the study room. She was already mad because the staff at the front desk had forced her to give up her melee weapons. Apparently, they were "dangerous", and this was a "family establishment" and there were "rules". Now she was down to just her extensive collection of daggers and projectile weapons.

"Could you at least tell me where the genealogical records are?" he called after the assistant's rapidly retreating form. "No? Come on!"

Indigo sighed. She already had him by the scruff of his neck, guiding him away from the harried assistant.

"Fathom, if you weren't my friend, I'd have tranquilized you and stuffed you into my bag by now." she snapped, dragging him down a dark hallway furnished with paintings of various Nightwing authors. "I've already had it up to _here _with the staff of this place! Spears aren't _that _dangerous."

"I mean, they didn't want you accidentally stabbing somebody." Fathom protested, stumbling along as he tried to free Indigo's iron grip on his scruff. "I think that's reasonable."

"_Still stupid." _Indigo mumbled petulantly, entering an antechamber that led into a couple different study rooms. "It's a good thing they didn't take my poison too. I would've gone _off."_

"Wait, you have poison?"

The door to the study room flew open, smashing into the wall and causing the plaster to crack. Clearsight, who had done the opening- rather overenthusiastically, mind- recoiled from the impact.

All three of them stared at the wreckage.

"…I remember it being a lot harder to open."

Indigo stormed inside, pulling both Clearsight and Fathom along. As Darkstalker glanced up from his place on the couch, she pulled the door closed with a resounding _SMASH. _

"Right!" Indigo grinned, revelling in the knowledge that things were finally going her way. "Let's get this show on the road!"

The door handle came off in her hand.

"Indigo, the door handle's come off in your hand." Fathom observed.

"No, it hasn't."

"It has."

"Well, what we're going to do is pretend that it hasn't."

She tossed the handle onto the table, where it proceeded to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Good throw." Darkstalker quipped, staring into nothing.

Realising that Indigo was now making the same noises as a kettle about to vent steam, Clearsight decided to take charge of the situation. "Ahem!" she tapped the miniature gavel she'd acquired from the front desk. "Hello, everybody! We meet again!"

As Indigo breathed deeply, trying to soothe her frayed nerves, Fathom pulled out a chair. He collapsed into it, propping his head up on his arm and slowly rubbing his forehead.

Darkstalker procured a tiny champagne popper and popped it. "Yay." he deadpanned.

Clearsight's eye twitched. "Don't patronise me."

"Why not?" he asked, still staring into the void. "Nothing matters anyways."

Fathom glanced over at him, and subsequently did a double take. "Darkstalker, have you been crying?"

"No, I just haven't blinked in two hours." he responded.

There was an incredibly uncomfortable silence.

"…Darkstalker, are you alright?"

"Are any of us alright?"

"I can't help you if you keep talking in circles."

"Maybe I don't want to be helped."

Clearsight pursed her lips. Quickly, she flicked through a few possible futures and-

_Oh. _

Darkstalker groaned, apparently having realised what she knew. "Don't bring it up, I'm basically fine, let's go back to what we were doing before."

She raised a talon to object, and then decided that it probably wasn't good to talk about _that_ with an audience present. "Alright. But I _am _getting a rain check on that conversation."

"Cool." He grabbed a decorative orb from the desk behind him, contorting into an unhealthy shape as he did so, and began playing catch with it.

"…right." Clearsight turned back to Indigo and Fathom, who seemed equal parts miffed at being left out and completely understanding of the situation. However, since neither of them were eager to intrude- and Clearsight and Darkstalker were desperately waiting on_ them_ to change the topic- a rather awkward silence ensued.

Fathom found his gaze drawn to a triptych on the far wall, depicting three Nightwings- each a varying amount of aristocratically arrogant. The one on the left was by far the most striking; her cool, jet black scales flowed like water, each contour drawing the viewer's eyes to her face. The one in the middle had a cunning grin that suggested that she knew far more than she let on and was very much willing to use her knowledge against you. The one on the right was almost normal. However, there was something about her posture, or her expression, or the glint in her eye, that made her…

"Ah, I see that you're admiring the collective visages of the royal daughters." Clearsight began, grinning. "That's Obsidian, Swiftthinker- or, as she prefers to be called, Fox- and Skyspeaker from left to right."

She leaned in, adopting a more conspiratorial tone. "It's rumoured that Skyspeaker knows how to talk to birds, and that she was a gift from the stars. It doesn't help that her birthday falls on the spring solstice, the same day that the two constellations that are rumoured to be her parents- the Sparrow and the Owl- take up almost equal halves of the sky.

"Fox, on the other hand, is the most conniving, mischievous creature the Night Kingdom has ever seen. She made the palace staff's life a living hell as a child, and there were even reports of her having secret passages throughout the palace that she used to spy on its denizens! It's too bad that she left about three years ago quote unquote '_on an adventure'_.

"Finally, Obsidian. She's the most likely to become Queen Vigilance's successor. She's a bit of a prissy princess, but I have it on good authority that it's _all just an act, _and that her true colours will come to light once she begins her reign!"

Another awkward silence followed, but this one had a distinctly different flavour than the last. There was a bit of charge in the air, just a bit of crackle that left each of them waiting for more. It was the undeniable allure of fresh conversation.

"…how do you _know _all this stuff?" Indigo asked, her eyes shimmering.

"Well, I pick up a lot in casual conversation." Clearsight responded, "Besides, gossip about the royal family is always circulating."

"Hmm." Fathom nodded. "That's pretty interesting."

Clearsight gasped, as though suddenly remembering something. "Hey, Fathom, aren't _you _part of the royal family?"

He scoffed. "Lot of good it did me."

Clearsight blinked. "What?"

"Well," Indigo began, kicking away from the table in such a fashion that her chair almost tumbled to the ground, "we're stuck here until further notice, since the Sea Kingdom probably isn't going to let us back in until this war is over."

Clearsight paled, while Darkstalker winced. "That's rough, sorry."

"Eh, it's fine." Without any indication that she was doing something unusual, Indigo clambered up onto the back of the couch Darkstalker was lying on and gently flicked his snout with her tail.

Darkstalker batted it away, glaring up at her balefully. "Don't."

"Why not?" she brought her tail in really close to his face, and then pulled it away just as he tried to hit it.

"My sympathy is finite."

"I'm grateful for your sympathy, I really am." Indigo did it again. "But this is fun."

Darkstalker scowled, which simply made Indigo's grin wider. She sided up to him, putting one arm around him as her scales tittered purple with amusement. "C'mon, Darkie, loosen up a bit!"

If anything, his scowl deepened. "Don't call me Darkie."

Indigo snorted, looking away.

"Alright, Darklord."

"_Darkstalker."_

"What?"

"My name," he growled, "is _Darkstalker."_

She pinched his cheek affectionately, as you would a child. "Aww, you're cute when you're mad."

Clearsight and Fathom watched this exchange with the demeanour of two explorers who had just watched their friend go off and stick their head in a tiger's mouth, only to have the tiger not decapitate them. With trepidation, they turned to face each other across the table.

"So you can't get back into the Sea Kingdom!" Clearsight proclaimed, spreading her arms. "That's a shame. But at least you have us!"

Fathom rested his chin on his hand without breaking eye contact. "Are you trying to be comforting?"

She nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. "_Am I doing a good job?"_

"I've seen worse." he shrugged, then glanced about. "Any good books you'd recommend? We _are _in a library, after all."

Clearsight started. "Well, I don't usually have much time to read, so… something by Skylight?"

"Who's that?"

"A children's book author." Darkstalker responded, glancing over at them. "They write books for actual children. Like, _Baby's First Words _type was the last time you read a book, Clearsight?"

Clearsight laughed nervously, pawing at her memories for an answer to his question. "Well, I- ummm, it's gotta be… last… couple of years, maybe?" She raised her arms in a halfhearted shrug and forced a grin.

"Your face has gone all funny." Indigo mentioned.

"Well _you _try documenting millions of possible futures for years on end!" Clearsight fired back. "Let's see how much free time _you _have!"

"Wait, _what?" _Fathom sat up a bit straighter, blinking hard. "Millions of possible futures? Do you have Nightwing powers?"

Indigo gasped loudly, turning to look at Clearsight with a glint in her eye. "Can you read minds? _Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?"_

She laughed, her torment of Darkstalker completely forgotten by now. "Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

Clearsight glanced between the two of them, mouth agape. A chuckle escaped before she could compose herself. "Sorry, I'm just so used to people knowing… it must've slipped my mind. Umm… about that, I _can't _read minds but I _can _see lots of different futures. So… yeah."

Fathom's talons clicked on the table in marching order as he thought. Meanwhile, Indigo let out a disappointed groan and flopped back down onto the back of the sofa.

"I guess it's just you and me now, Darkboy." she mused, darting her tail close to his snout once more. He tried flicking it away, only for her to pull it back at the last second. The cycle continued.

"…so, I'm assuming it isn't just as simple as you looking into my future and telling me where I'll be in five years." Fathom said, clearly intrigued. "Is it?"

"It isn't." Clearsight reassured him. "Even tiny differences in futures can cause massive differences later on- it's called the Butterfly Effect. So, I see a few hundred different possible timelines for each significant event- which is all of them- each of which splits off into different timelines for each significant event. It's a mess, but I _am _usually able to tell which is most likely to happen. Usually."

"So, it's not a hundred percent reliable?"

"Oh, not by a long shot. I could be wrong at almost every turn. There's a reason we don't put excessive amounts of stock into abilities like mine."

"…does that mean that you can't tell how the war's going to turn out?"

As though a flip had been switched, the mood turned sombre. Indigo even stopped pestering Darkstalker, instead electing to curl her tail around her hands and turn to watch Clearsight's answer.

Clearsight swallowed. "No, I can't. The most likely outcome seems to be no retaliation from the Icewing side. But a thousand other things are also possible- maybe they launch an attack and are defeated, maybe they infiltrate the palace, maybe they send out a few diplomats and the matter gets resolved. There's no way of knowing."

Fathom sighed, laying his hands flat on the table. "So, we should be prepared for anything."

She nodded. "_Anything."_

There was a rather solemn silence that settled over the room from that moment on. Each one of them seemed to individually be considering just what that '_anything' _could mean.

Well, each one of them except for Indigo, who was casually inspecting her nails.

"I could teach you guys to defend yourselves." she mentioned casually.

"What?" Darkstalker asked, looking up at her.

"You heard me." she leapt off the sofa, strolling over to the window and looking out. "I'm proficient with most weapons and can hold my own in a bare-handed brawl. Far as I can tell, I'm the closest y'all are going to get to a decent instructor out here. So…"

She turned back to the rest of them and cocked a grin. "Whaddya say?"


End file.
